


A Ruinous Gravitation

by ice_hot_13



Series: "A Ruinous Gravitation" Verse [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Hockey, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_hot_13/pseuds/ice_hot_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron and Ryan are a pair on and off the ice, and Aaron doesn’t know why they fit together like that, but he has to figure it out before Ryan does because whatever the reason is, it can’t be good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 Joining a team with Ryan again is probably the last thing Aaron should have done, because all it will do is make everything worse. Of course, that’s been true for a bunch of other things he’s already done, and it didn’t stop him then, either. Which is probably part of the problem, but whatever, when Ryan says he wants to play in Tier 2 instead of Tier 1 because it’s getting annoyingly vicious, Aaron agrees instantly. They were on the same team this past semester – of course – and Aaron sure as hell isn’t staying on it without Ryan.

            They’ve been on the same team since  _forever,_ except once. There was one team that Aaron joined for a summer league, and Ryan was gone for the summer doing some family reunion whatever that Aaron pretended not to resent Ryan for, and Aaron’s sure his former teammates were less than impressed by him. It had been a disheartening season, but there hadn’t been a single crack about him and his D-partner, and that had been as disappointing as it was easy.

            That was five years ago, though. Aaron hasn’t done that since, and he’s not about to start now, so he asks around and looks through the  _teams searching for players_ page and signs them both up as free agents, and then he sees that the Werewolves are still taking people. He remembers seeing their flyers last term, promising that they were a  _legitly awesome team,_ and a few of their friends played with the captain last year, so Aaron sends an email. They’ve missed the first game already but fast as anything, they’re added to the roster of the worst team in the league, and Aaron thinks it’ll be okay.

            Their last team could have been famous for the silence of its locker room. The teammates didn’t talk to each other, couldn’t really be bothered. Aaron missed the companionship, but whatever, at least they weren’t making digs about him and Ryan, things that made Ryan laugh and Aaron cringe. No one was saying anything last term, and Aaron preferred it that way, because the less it was brought to Ryan’s attention, the better. Just in case it was true.

            They play together all the time, so what; just because they come in together and sit next to each other and leave together doesn’t mean anything. Aaron’s almost managed to convince himself.

0o0o0o0         

            “Think they’re good?” Ryan asks when they’re at a stoplight on Broadway, on the way to the game. Aaron shrugs, keeps his eyes on the light.

            “Well, they’ve never won a game,” he says, and he knows exactly the grin that’s on Ryan’s face.

            “Until now,” Ryan crows, looking up from his phone to give Aaron that weird smile of his. It’s inexplicably both a smile and a smirk; it should be a smirk, but his eyes are too bright, his face too open to be so haughty.

            “Bet I score first,” Aaron retorts, and then hears the telltale sound of Ryan digging out his wallet. Ryan keeps a scrap of paper in there, and he takes a pen out of the glovebox, looks over at Aaron expectantly.

            “Keep in mind you owe me four beers, editing one paper, and a skate sharpening right now.” He clicks the pen, grinning, “and I owe you two car washes, four windshield ice scrapings, and two shots.”

            “Okay,” Aaron chews his lip, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Blue shoelaces, you can copy one set of notes for free, three turns picking a movie, two turns picking lunch, and one forfeit of something you owe me, your choice of what.”

            “Shit,” Ryan’s grin just widens, “confident, eh?”

            “You know it. What’re you puttin’ up?”

            Ryan sighs out a breath, thinks while he records what Aaron just bet. “Okay,” he says after he’s done scribbling, “four ringtones, I’ll cook dinner twice, hold the umbrella for three days, window seat on the bus five times, and one forfeit.”

            “Wow,” Aaron grins, because Ryan must be serious, if he’s volunteering to not only let Aaron have the window seat when they take the bus, but to cook, too; Ryan’s fucking awesome at it, and he avoids doing it at all costs. “Okay, you’re on.”

            When they finally get to the rink and walk into the locker room, Aaron knows right away that this team isn’t silent and serious like the last one. They’re pretty late, looks like among the last to arrive. Aaron takes a spot next to Ryan on the bench, looks around.

            Beside them, a lanky guy is talking to a guy with an oddly deep voice and a guy who looks like a hipster, a twelver of beer sitting on the shelf above them. A girl is walking into the washroom with a shirt in hand, waves at a heavy-set girl with frizzy hair. A guy with an A on his jersey and spiky hair is talking to the goalie, who’s wearing headphones and giving the spiky-haired guy an incredulous look. Two guys sit together, one taking a jersey from his bag with an Indian last name Aaron knows he’ll pronounce wrong, the other wearing earphones and a baseball cap, and they don’t talk to anyone else, but lean together to talk every now and then. A girl with a brusque voice is talking to another girl, who has a jersey with a C on it sitting atop her bag, talking about the captain’s skate, which looks about five sizes smaller than Aaron’s. A guy with an A on his jersey talks to a dark-haired girl in the far corner, something about a class.

            So, they’re definitely not quiet. Maybe they’ll be super friendly, and not say anything about him and Ryan.

            Aaron’s among the last to go out for the warm-up; he finds the bench, where the captain is tying up her yellow laces, while the players start coming back to start the game.

            “Can me and Ryan play D together?” Aaron asks, and his captain smiles up at him.

            “Yeah, totally,” she says, and he tries to smile back, but he’s sort of stuck on the look on her face, which kind of says  _of course, why wouldn’t you,_ even though this is their first game and how could she already know that.

            Unless it’s obvious. But it’s not. Aaron decides not to think about it, just skates to his spot on Ryan’s left. There’s nothing wrong with being tuned in to each other.

            The puck drops and he stops thinking about it.

            At least, he only thinks about it when they’re sitting on the bench next to each other, Ryan elbowing him whenever someone makes a particularly good play - which happens surprisingly often for a team that can’t seem to bury to save their lives – and sharing Ryan’s water bottle because Aaron forgot his. He sort of thinks about it when one of the alt captains scores, and they go to bump gloves with him and Ryan slings an arm around Aaron’s shoulders in a brief half-hug even though neither of them scored that, and again during the two minute breaks between periods, when Ryan looks at him with a look that says  _we’re losing_ and Aaron gives him one that says  _fun game, though,_ and Ryan shrugs, kind of smiles, agrees without any words needed. He thinks about it when they walk out together and Ryan grabs both their sticks from beside the door.

            Other than that, he doesn’t think about it at all.

0o0o0o0o

            Aaron’s favourite place to study is the Forestry building. This part of the library, hidden at the back of the floor, is his favourite. It’s after rows and rows of shelves, and the big window lets in sunlight. He’s bent over his notebook, taking notes from his textbook, when the chair across from his is pulled out.

            “Whatcha studying?” Ryan asks. Aaron looks up; Ryan’s taking off his jacket, frowning at the rainwater that gets everywhere. Aaron doesn’t answer, but tilts the book in Ryan’s direction. “Water hydrology,” Ryan reads, smirks. This is Aaron’s favourite part of this class, hearing Ryan say its name. He loves the way Ryan drags through  _hydrology,_ the o’s pronounced with precision, and he loves the disbelieving look Ryan gets on his face every single time. Of course, every time, it reminds him of how very  _fucked_ he is, but whatever, he can enjoy it. It doesn’t mean anything, he just likes the way Ryan says things, is all. That’s not a big deal. “Not that much to water,” Ryan says, sitting down. He’s always got something to say about Aaron’s class.

            “Better than old English,” Aaron retorts, and Ryan flips him off.

            “For the last time, it’s renaissance and shit, not  _old English,_  that’s different stuff.”

            “Yeah, yeah, so I’ve heard.” Aaron doesn’t really get why Ryan’s even in English, honestly. Ryan’s somehow a great writer, but the way he complains about papers, Aaron’s not sure why he’d voluntarily subject himself to it. It’s the kind of thing he wishes he could ask, but doesn’t want to. He  _could;_ he’s sure Ryan would tell him, that funny way he has of going zero to serious and back in a matter of seconds, but he knows he’ll love the answer. Which is the problem. If Aaron doesn’t ask, he can assume Ryan’s just trudging through his degree, and he can just not think about what Ryan must have written on his application to the major. Their school only takes the worthy; you have to get accepted to UBC, and then again into the major; Aaron doesn’t want to think about Ryan’s application, that he would have been accepted. It’s not a horrifically exclusive major, but Aaron knows people that have been turned away. But if he doesn’t know what Ryan wrote, if he never reads a word Ryan writes, he’ll be that much less involved with Ryan.

            “Better than like, trees and water.”

            “That shit’s life-sustaining,” Aaron points out, and Ryan laughs.

            That’s kind of the other reason Aaron loves studying here; there’s no one around to complain if they get loud, and he can make Ryan laugh all he wants. It’s kind of the greatest part about this place, if he’s honest with himself.

            Then again, Aaron blatantly refuses to be honest. His favourite’s part the sunlight. Definitely. He looks up from his book, and Ryan’s taking out papers, sunlight spilling across the table between them, golden on his tan skin.

            Sunlight. That’s Aaron’s favourite part. Nothing to do with Ryan at all.

0o00o0o0o

            Aaron scores the first goal, on a goalie that’s really just a defenseman in goalie pads. He distantly hears his bench explode into cheers, reminding him that they’re a low-scoring team, that this is something to scream to the rafters about.

            “Beauty, man,” Ryan says when Aaron skates up, throws his arms around Ryan. Ryan hugs him back, grinning, unfailingly a good sport.

            “Sweeter cos you owe me now,” Aaron replies, and all he hears is Ryan’s laugh as their teammates congratulate him.

            When they win the game, their bench bursts into screaming cheers. Aaron’s only been in like, two games with these guys, coming off a season with a winning team. These guys, though. He believes they’ve never won a game before, from the overflowing happiness, these teammates who can’t stop smiling. He exchanges a look with Ryan by the goal where everyone’s grinning and bumping gloves and talking in excited half-sentences.

             _They’re not used to winning,_ his look says, and Ryan lifts a shoulder.

             _They’re not us._

            Aaron laughs, looks away. He knocks helmets with the goalie and pats the captain on her helmet because he’s always had a thing about babying the rookies and she’s definitely one of the least experienced here, and he likes how proud the captain and assistant captains look; he gets the feeling that they’d be proud of just a well-played game, win notwithstanding, and once again he’s glad to be on this team.

            Ryan skates up behind him in the handshake line, leans forward to talk into his ear. “Guess I gotta pay up,” he says, and Aaron looks over his shoulder to see Ryan’s grin.

            “You got it,” he says with a matching grin.

            As they skate to the bench, he catches the captain exchanging a look with one of the assistant captains, Ken; it’s happy and not a little smug, and all Ken does is shake his head and hold out his hand for a stick of gum from the pack the captain keeps on the bench shelf during every game. Man, Aaron loves this team. They’re nothing but hilarious.

0o0o000o

            Friday evening finds Aaron face-down on his couch, wishing economics was easier, or that the textbook at least didn’t mock him by calling it  _games_ of strategy, like it’s supposed to be fun or something.

            “Comin’ out?” One of his roommates, Tim, leans over the back of the couch to hit him in the shoulder. Aaron groans.

            “Naah. So much shit to do.”

            “You sure? Drew and I are going to the Keg.”

            “I’m going to Poits,” Sean adds from the doorway.

            “Dude, why would I go to a business school social?”

            “Uh, because we’re  _awesome?”_

            “Sorry. All the hot people are in poli-sci with me.”

            “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Sean laughs. This is as close as anyone ever gets to mentioning that Aaron doesn’t date anyone, ever. He just feels no real compulsion to spend time with any of the girls he’s met. It’s not his fault, it’s theirs, for being uninteresting. He’s definitely not Ryan, who goes out with a new girl every week. Can’t hold down a relationship for shit, but at least he’s asking out people. Aaron can’t bring himself to even bother to try.

            His roommates eventually leave, and the apartment is silent for a while. Aaron tries to work up the motivation to start studying again, but the textbook is under his head, and he doesn’t really feel like moving.     

            The front door opens. “Told you business socials are boring,” Aaron calls out, because there’s no way Drew and Tim will be back before one.

            “Of course they are, why would I go to one?” It’s Ryan, and he sounds genuinely confused. Aaron grins; Ryan always seems to assume Aaron knows it’s him when he walks in unannounced, as if Aaron has some sixth sense for him or something.

            “What’s up?”

            “You had dinner yet?”

            “Nope.”

            “Good.” Ryan walks across the living room, and Aaron hears the kitchen door open.

            “You making me dinner?” he asks hopefully.

            “I’m a man of my word.”

            “Man after my own heart,” Aaron says without thinking, but Ryan just laughs.

            “Dude, I know you so well, I’d have you seduced in two seconds flat.”

            “Calling me easy?”

            “Might be.” There’s the sound of the oven beeping as Ryan sets the temperature, then his footsteps again. Ryan then climbs onto the couch, sitting behind Aaron’s outstretched legs, resting his own legs over Aaron’s. “Xbox it up, dude.” He drops a controller next to Aaron’s head.

            “Yeah, I’d love to get beaten six billion times on my Friday night,” Aaron says, grabbing the remote off the table, shifting around so he can lean against the arm of the couch, legs still under Ryan’s. He turns on the TV, pauses when he sees it’s sports news; the newscasters are discussing an NHL trade just made this afternoon.

            “Being traded must really suck,” Ryan comments, and Aaron just nods mutely. He can’t imagine what it would feel like; it’d be like being told tomorrow that he has to leave everything he has in this city and go somewhere he’s never been before, live there instead. It would feel like random destruction, senseless devastation. He wouldn’t see Ryan every day anymore, and somehow, he thinks that part would hurt most of all.

            “I’d hate it.”

            “If you were traded, I’d go with you,” Ryan says, and Aaron can’t really form a response. Ryan takes the remote from him, sets it on the input for the Xbox, and they don’t talk about trades anymore.

            Aaron doesn’t remember when he mentioned to Ryan that his favourite food in the world is Santa-Fey-style Mexican, but it turns out that Ryan’s really,  _really_ good at making it. He kind of hates that if Ryan was doing this for a girl, remembering obscure things and making her green-chile salsa, it would be like proclaiming love to her, but with them, this is just what they do for each other, Ryan’s just fulfilling a bet, and it doesn’t mean anything more than that.

            Not that Aaron wants it to mean more, or anything.

0o0o0o0o0o

            Wednesday morning, Aaron’s professor is lecturing about something to do with politics and globalization, and Aaron isn’t listening.       

            After their game last night, he’d overheard the captain and Ken talking about how their only goals were scored by “Keith and Seabs, of course,” and it hadn’t taken him long to figure out that this is what they’re calling him and Ryan. Aaron’s only vaguely familiar with the NHL players they’re referring to, so while the professor drones on, he googles  _Keith and Seabrook._

            The first few things he reads make it seem like a simple compliment; they’re a great defensive pair, and that’s good. Then he gets to an article that makes him worry. Keith and Seabrook’s teammates say  _they’re like a married couple_ and talk about how well they know each other, and how they’re a pair off-ice too, and that’s when things start getting bad.

            He can’t exactly ask  _so are the nicknames because we’re good players, or because we’re practically a couple,_ because it was obvious that it was sort of an inside joke. The captain and assistant captain verbally spar like brother and sister – last week they came into the locker room arguing loudly about time travel and South Park – and have brief talks on the side of the ice while the team warms up, little quips that seem like non sequiturs sometimes. So he can’t go up and ask them to please explain their private reference, but at the same time, he burns with worry.

            Is it that obvious, that they’re so weirdly tuned in to each other? If that’s obvious, then maybe the whatever-it-is that he feels about Ryan is obvious too, and if their new teammates are picking up on it, it can’t be long before Ryan does, too.

            Aaron doesn’t quite understand any of what’s going on, but he can definitely be positive that whatever it is, he doesn’t want Ryan figuring it out. At the very least, he needs to figure out what the hell’s going on before anyone else can catch on.

0o0o0o0o

            Aaron misses the game they have on Valentine’s day, and from the way his teammates are talking about it after their next game, figures it must have been a slaughter as usual. They have this tradition now, some of them hanging back in the locker room to drink cheap beer and talk. It’s usually just five of them in the corner – Dan, Justin, the captain, the assistant captain Ken and Jeff – drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon. Aaron heads over to sit between the captain and Justin, because Ryan’s taking forever to get ready for some reason; he’s just sitting there in his towel talking to the core five – Aaron’s new name for the five that sit in the corner – about the Canucks and trades.

            “So, who do we play next?” Aaron asks the captain, to distract himself, because Ryan’s just standing there talking to Justin from across the room, and he’s wearing nothing more than a towel, for God’s sake, and how is that even fair? Ryan’s all lean muscle, and it’s practically obscene, how good he looks.

            “The Looters,” the captain replies, and Aaron realises belatedly that he already asked her this, less than ten minutes ago. Well, blame Ryan’s naked torso. Actually, he’d rather not.

            Ryan finally decides to put some clothes on, starts using a ball of tape like a ball, bouncing it off the wall with his stick. Aaron tries to pay attention to Dan and Ken’s discussion of – someone? A trade? – but then Ryan manages to hit the ball off the wall and it bounces straight into the garbage can, and Ryan’s cheer is kind of distracting. Aaron redoubles his efforts to listen, and they’re talking about another rec team now.

            “Oh, that game was on Valentine’s day, huh?” Aaron interjects. He’d been sick; this had thankfully also kept everyone from asking him whether he was going on a date.

            “Did you guys win?” Ryan asks, and Aaron looks over, is treated to a view of Ryan leaning on his stick.

            “You weren’t there?”

            “Nope.”

            “Oh,” Aaron grins, even though he’s not sure what to think, “had a hot date?” Ryan shakes his head at this, smirking.

            “Gross, man,” he says, and it’s hard to tell if he’s entirely joking, because he makes this kind of incredulous face, like  _why would I do that,_ even though he does go on dates, all the time, with blonde girls Aaron never sees twice.

            They walk out together a few minutes later, bid the core five good night; it’s nearly one forty-five in the morning, but they usually hang out in the locker room until nearly two thirty. This is what worries him about this team, their accepting nature. These five can talk for over an hour about anything, even though Jeff and Justin are new to the team, Justin knows Dan, and Ken knows the captain; it doesn’t matter, these intersecting friendships, and when he leaves they’re planning a team get-together. They’re accepting, great, because that just makes him feel worse about wanting to hide this whatever-it-is from everyone, them included. Sometimes, it feels like all they do is set up examples for him that he fails to follow. The captain’s always asking their opinion, on how many players the team should have, what lines to play, completely fine with asking for help and accepting advice happily on the bench; he should ask for help, too, but he never does.

            Aaron follows Ryan out of the locker room, into the dark, cold rink, the ice an empty stretch to their right. “Wish we could play right now,” Ryan says, and Aaron nods silently, because it’d be cool, but it wouldn’t be novel, not to him, to have just the two of them out there.

            Sometimes, it feels like Ryan’s always the only one on the ice with him, everyone else gone, and it’s just him and Ryan, skating their flawless patterns around each other, their paths an orbit, never touching. 


	2. Chapter 2

They’re sitting together in the snow on the top of the mountain, bright sunlight and icy wind all around them, when Aaron figures it out. Ryan’s adjusting the bindings on his snowboard, goggles shoved up on his forehead and he’s squinting in the bright light.

            “Too bad no one else could come,” Aaron says, looking down the mountain, the run spread out for them to tear down, chirping each other at the top of their lungs.

            “I didn’t ask anyone else.” He looks over at Aaron, dark eyes unreadable. “I, uh. You know.”

            “It’d be hard to have a big group anyhow, skilifts and stuff,” Aaron agrees, even though it wouldn’t really be a problem. He only notices the tense set to Ryan’s shoulders when Ryan relaxes a little, his breath a fog in the cold air.

            “Totally.”

            Aaron doesn’t care that no one else came, though. He couldn’t. He loves it when it’s like this, just him and Ryan. The way it is right now, there’s not anyone else around them at all. It’s just them at the top of Grouse Mountain, Vancouver lying at their feet, a vast array of mountains and city that gives way to the ocean, disappearing into the sky. Even in the snow, Ryan’s radiating heat beside him, and Aaron likes it best like this, when they’re side-by-side, close enough that he can see the freckles across Ryan’s nose, barely visible against his tan skin, close enough that their shoulders brush.

            When they were younger, Aaron thought this would all go away. Thought that one day, they’d go different ways, or that he’d wake up and not be able to read Ryan’s mind anymore. It hasn’t, though. When he was four, he looked up through the cage of his helmet to see Ryan waiting for his pass, and now he’s nearly twenty-one had hasn’t looked away from Ryan since.              
              He’s been in love with Ryan for a long time, and this is how he realises it, sitting in the snow with Ryan, high above their city.        

            Ryan pushes himself up in one easy movement, skids a foot or so before he turns to Aaron and holds out his hand because he knows Aaron still hasn’t figured out the standing-up-without-falling thing yet. Aaron takes it and doesn’t want to let go, but he does, and then he follows Ryan all the way back down the mountain.

0o0o0o0o0o

            They go out with a bunch of people on Friday night to Republic, which Aaron likes for the music and the bar with the two-story high wall of bottles and Ryan likes for the half-second-floor and staircase. They never hang out on the first floor, their group automatically heading for the staircase once they get inside. Aaron lingers to look up at the shelves filled with bottles, almost flinches when a hand closes around his wrist.

            “Upstairs,” Ryan yells, pulls him through the crowd.

            “Of course,” Aaron says back, and Ryan laughs.

            Everyone drinks a lot, which isn’t exactly surprising. Their friends tell Aaron that Ryan doesn’t drink a lot, but whenever they go out, Ryan doesn’t exactly prove that to be true. By the time it’s nearing one AM, most of Aaron’s friends are well beyond the point of remembering tonight. Aaron sits on one of the couches near the bar, in the corner next to Draw’s girlfriend Kelsey; she has wildly curly brown hair, and has drunk about as much as Aaron, which is to say, not too much. Certainly not as much as their friends, who are still by the bar.

            “Going out with Drew used to suck,” Kelsey’s telling him, and Aaron grins, because Drew did a staggering amount of stupid things when he was even two years younger. “He had this fake ID when we were eighteen, from Saskatchewan – he’s never even been there – and we went to buy vodka or something, and the cashier – it turned out she was from Saskatchewan! And she was all asking him where he was from, and the only city he knows is Saskatoon, and that’s where she was from,” Kelsey shakes her head, “that liar. I’m surprised we got out of there without being arrested.”

            Aaron’s been talking to Kelsey for a while when Ryan comes over, sits next to Aaron at the end of the couch, pressed up against him.

            “Hey,” he says, nudging Aaron. Kelsey’s distracted by one of her friends, so Aaron turns.

            “What’s up? They run out of shots up there?” he grins, but Ryan shakes his head no seriously.

            “I missed you,” he says in a low voice, like this is something Aaron needs to understand is important.

            “Oh, okay.”

            “You missed me, right?” He sounds extremely concerned.

            “Course, dude.” Ryan’s usually pretty fascinating when he’s drunk; Aaron never fails to have a good time. He’s usually not this serious, though.

            “I didn’t think you would,” Ryan says, frowning down at the floor, “I don’t think you like me.”

            “Of course I like you, don’t be stupid.”

            “I, um. No.” He looks up at Aaron, looks absurdly hurt. “Why not? I think I’m okay.”

            “You’re great, Ryan. I don’t not like you.”

            It seems to take Ryan a while to puzzle out the double negative, but he still shakes his head no stubbornly. “I don’t care,” he finally says, “I mean, I do care, but I don’t. I don’t not like you because you don’t like me.”

            “Well, I don’t not like you, so don’t worry about it.”

            _“Aaron,”_ Ryan says, so distressed by this, Aaron kind of wants to hug him or something. He doesn’t know what to say, because Ryan looks both convinced Aaron doesn’t like him and devastated by this, practically on the verge of tears, and Aaron just doesn’t know what to do, but that doesn’t matter, because suddenly, Ryan leans over and kisses him. He fists his hand in Aaron’s shirt to pull him closer, kisses Aaron like he has something to prove.

            “Dude, what?” Aaron manages when they part, but then someone’s grabbing his hand and pulling him away – Kelsey, something about helping her with Drew, or whatever – and Aaron’s yanked away, left reeling like he suddenly lost his other half, has to stumble along without it, his centre of balance completely destroyed.

0o0o0o0o

            On Monday afternoon, Aaron’s sitting in his usual spot at the back of the classroom in sociology, watching the door. Class starts in two minutes, and people come in, take their seats. It takes forever before Ryan opens the door, climbs up the steps to the back row. He pulls out the chair next to Aaron, tosses his backpack on the table.

            “Hey, dude,” Ryan says, sitting and starting to search for his notebook in his backpack. “I’m on time, notice that?   

            “Two minutes early isn’t exactly on time.”

            “Not late, either,” Ryan says, flashes him a grin. All Aaron’s been able to think about is Friday night, and when he looks at Ryan’s mouth he can practically feel Ryan kissing him. “Man, Friday was awesome, we should do it again,” Ryan says, like it’s nothing.

            “Yeah?”

            “Totally. I mean, I can’t remember most of it, but I’m sure that means it was fun.”

            That’s why Ryan’s acting like everything’s normal between them; it’s because Friday night was erased completely, like it never happened at all. It’s unfair, that the thing Aaron wanted to change everything has disappeared. Ryan doesn’t remember kissing Aaron, and Aaron can’t forget any of it. Even if Ryan forgot it entirely, it still changed everything.

            Maybe, Aaron thinks, it’s time he tried to figure out a way to live without Ryan.

0o0o0o0o0o

            They’re losing after the first period; no real surprise there. “Hey,” Aaron calls up the bench during the two-minute break, “can someone play D? I’m gonna jump up to offense.” He pretends like he doesn’t see the shocked looks, and claps Jeff on the shoulder when he volunteers. Aaron doesn’t turn around to look at Ryan, who’s sitting in silence, on the defence end of the bench.

            Aaron scores once, and pretends like he hadn’t been instinctively turning to hug Ryan afterwards, because Ryan’s watching from the bench, at the other end of the ice.

            They lose anyways, a two-to-twelve slaughter that his teammates take without any sign of disbelief. They had a substitute goalie, a short bench. They’re too used to losing; as fired up as they get when they’re ahead, a slip downhill turns into an avalanche, all the passion dampened as soon as a loss starts happening again. They’re just too used to it, sometimes.

            They lose their next two games, too. Aaron spends more time on offense than defence, and Ryan stops scoring. He barely gets any shots on net, and more than once throws completely illegal checks, watches some of each game from the penalty box.

            After they lose to the law graduate team, the locker room is quiet, and Aaron follows Ryan out without staying to talk with the core five.

            “Shitty game,” Ryan says once they’re out in the cold night air, their breath visible amidst the rain. Ryan frowns up at the sky, pulls on his hood.

            “Yeah.”

            “Might win in the playoffs anyways, though. I mean, we did win two games.” Their second win had been a 3-2 struggle, a game with numerous near-fights, too many penalties. Aaron had scored as left wing; Ryan got a penalty for starting a fight in front of the net, and another for crosschecking.

            “So,” Ryan says when they’re standing in front of the trunk, Aaron shoving his bag in next to Ryan’s, “busy tomorrow night?”

            He’s been doing this lately, asking Aaron to do things more. Aaron’s not sure why; maybe Ryan’s figured out that he’s stepping away, and is clinging because this is who they’ve always been, even though to Aaron, it’s not the same anymore, will never go back to the way it used to be.

            “Yeah,” Aaron says, and it’s not a complete lie, because he does have to read for his classes, “sorry.”

            Truthfully, he has a ton of chapters he has to read in his water hydrology textbook, but he can’t bear to even look at it; he doesn’t want to think about Ryan anymore.

            Ryan shoves his hands in his pockets, watches Aaron shut the trunk, and doesn’t say much for the entire ride.

0o0o0o0o0o

            The geography building’s lounge is a tiny room with circular windows overlooking the hallway and slouchy leather couches; the room matches the rest of the geography building, an overlooked little white building with painted-red stairs and too many doors. Aaron hasn’t had a class here in two years, but he has test corrections due in economics in an hour, and he can’t bring himself to study in Forestry like usual.

            His phone buzzes after twenty minutes, and it’s from Ryan. _U comin to frstry??_  it reads.

             _No sorry had to work on test corrections w ppl_ , Aaron types back, even though it’s kind of a lie.

_Sucks. Free tonight?_

            Aaron hates himself for how he doesn’t have to think about his answer, just sends _can’t sorry,_ and he doesn’t get anything in reply. He’s been turning down just about everything for the past week and a half.

            He tries not to think about their study place, about Ryan sitting alone at their table in the sunlit corner of the room.

            It’s cloudy today anyways; there wouldn’t even be any sun.

            He doesn’t see Ryan again until their next game; not that he’s seen Ryan much this week anyways, except in sociology, which Aaron makes a point of coming to late so they won’t have much time to talk before class. Ryan has a class right after sociology so he always has to run, but Aaron’s pretty sure that even if they had tons of time, Ryan wouldn’t talk about what’s going on anyways.

            “This is the playoffs!” the goalie announces, as they put their gloves in for a cheer, “let’s win it! Wolves on three, one, two, three, _Wolves!”_

            Aaron skates to his position; he didn’t ask to play offense, and it’s obvious that everyone views him on offense as a brief thing, that his actual position is defense, as Ryan’s partner. All the other D players skated automatically to the bench once they saw that Ryan was going to start, because Aaron’s always going to be connected to Ryan out here.

            The puck drops, and for the next hour, everything feels normal. They skate hard during their shifts and sit next to each other in between, Aaron yelling to their teammates on the ice, Ryan quiet as always beside him, content to just watch. Aaron figures out that the captain listens when he yells her last name so he devotes some time to yelling instructions and pats her on the helmet after her shift; she doesn’t ask if he’ll move up to offense, and he gets the idea that even though he scores on offense, everyone feels like he’s where he belongs when he scores from the D-line.

            The team they play against is pretty tame; the goalie has subbed for them before, and one of the players is on a ball hockey team with Aaron’s captain and Jackie, so it’s less rough than their usual games.       

            Aaron scores off Ryan’s pass late in the third, finally putting them on the scoreboard. Their teammates scream from the bench, and Aaron skates over to Ryan, who hugs him and bumps his glove against Aaron’s.

            “Four more just like that, okay?” Ryan says, grins like nothing ever happened between them. _As far as he knows, nothing has,_  Aaron thinks guiltily, feels terrible, but he just smiles back and goes to bump gloves with their teammates.

            After they lose the game, Aaron gets dressed quickly and goes to sit with the core five so he won’t have to see Ryan in a towel. They’re always entertaining, and certainly don’t fail tonight.

            “It’s called Memphis, it’s great,” Justin’s saying to Dan.

            “I hated that place!” the captain cuts in, “the place in Gastown is so much better.”

            “There’s another barbeque place? I can't believe it!” Aaron tries not to grin openly at the excitement in Justin's voice. 

            “Yeah, it’s way better than the Memphis place.”

            “What kind is it?”

            “South Carolina,” the captain says, and Justin grins. Aaron hadn’t been aware that there was a difference, but apparently, he’s out of his league in barbeque here, between the two of them. He’s not sure he’s ever heard a girl openly admit to adoring barbeque before, pretty sure most guys must love her for that. He hates it when he runs into girls like this, boasting good looks and hockey, because he can’t appreciate it like that. None of the girls Ryan dates are like this, surprisingly; they’ve all been dainty and blonde, probably never held a stick in their lives. Aaron always figured Ryan would go for this type, or at least someone who shared at least a single interest with him.

            “Short season,” Aaron remarks to the captain and Justin after they’re finished mourning over American barbeque that can’t be found in Canada.

            “Think you guys will come back in September?” the captain asks, and there it is again. People always assume him and Ryan are complete only when they’re together, can’t exist any other way.

            “Hope so,” he says, gaze shifting over to Ryan, across the room. If it’s obvious to everyone, it can’t be long before Ryan sees it, too.

            Ryan’s leaning down to tie his shoe, and Aaron’s suddenly back on the mountain with him, watching Ryan fix his bindings, just the two of them shoulder-to-shoulder under the clear blue sky.

0o0o0o

            After Sociology on Friday, Ryan doesn’t rush off to make it to his Shakespeare class, follows Aaron into the hallway.

            “Haven’t you got English?” Aaron asks, shouldering his backpack.

            “Cancelled today.”  Ryan’s buttoning up his grey jacket, looks up at Aaron almost cautiously. “Plans tonight?”

            “Not sure yet,” Aaron says evenly, “you?”

            “Bunch of people are going to Venue or something. You in?” It’s a perfectly innocent question, but Aaron can only think of the way Ryan kissed him, Ryan’s hands tight in his shirt, keeping him close, kissing Aaron like it was his right, like he had something to win.

            “No,” Aaron snaps, because that was supposed to be the thing that changed everything, and Ryan can’t even remember it, and he’s  _supposed to,_  and if being this close counted for fucking anything, Ryan would have done it on purpose.

            He shoves his way past the glass doors and doesn’t look back; his phone rings seven times, and the eighth time, he just turns it off.

0o0o0o0o

            Aaron doesn’t see Ryan until Monday, in sociology. He doesn’t sit with Ryan, just chooses a seat near the front of the room; when he glances back, Ryan’s staring down at the desk, Aaron’s chair empty beside him.

            He doesn’t go study at Forestry either, ends up in the library. He’s walking past the tables, trying to find an open spot, when someone whispers his name loudly.

            “Oh, hey,” it’s Annika, who he sits with in water hydrology sometimes. “What’s up?”

            “Just studying,” he says, holding up the familiar textbook. The word _hydrology_  makes something inside him twist sickeningly. “You?”

            “Same,” he sits next to her, takes out his book. “Definitely stuck on the questions, though.”

            “So it’s not just me! Thank God.” Her green eyes light up with her smile, which doesn’t have so much as a hint of a smirk in it; fuck, but Aaron misses Ryan.

            Maybe that’s why he ends up asking Annika if she wants to go out for dinner with him that weekend; it’s definitely the thing that makes him feel terrible when she smiles and says yes.

            Aaron finds himself missing their team as he walks towards the Forestry building for his class, the building in the same direction as the rink. Their season’s over, nothing from here until September, which feels horribly far away. He misses the way they screamed for their first victory as a team, the core five’s locker room beers; misses Ken’s anger-fueled breakaways, Jackie teasing the captain for having gum during games, Matt’s need to wear a baseball cap to and from games, Lukesh leading the team cheer, the way Brittany laughed as the captain sang along to country songs played during stoppages in play, Riley informing them that their stretches were useless, Dan’s filthy chirping. He misses the way Ryan skated straight to him after either of them scored, because they need each other to celebrate; Aaron hated scoring when Ryan wasn’t on the ice, because every goal was a betrayal if Ryan wasn’t there to help him do it.

            Things have changed, though. On top of a mountain, Aaron realised he was in love with Ryan, and Ryan kissed him with deceptive urgency. They wouldn’t have been teammates forever, anyways.

0o0o0o0oo

            Annika’s delighted that Aaron chose a sushi place for their date, and goes through the menu happily commenting on her favourites. “I love this place,” she tells him after they’ve ordered, smiling at him brightly across the table. “I’m glad you picked here! This way, we can have really awesome food while you tell me why you asked me out.”

            “Um… what?” Aaron looks up from the sushi list he’d been studying. Annika smiles like she hadn’t said something so strange.

            “Aaron, I’ve been asked out by tons of guys, I can tell when someone likes me.”

            “I like you,” he protests, even though he’s thinking  _oh fuck she found out._

            “As a friend,” she adds to his statement, “and that’s awesome, because I like you as a friend too. _But,_  now I think going on a date makes us closer than friends, so now I don’t feel bad about prying, so tell me what’s going on.”

            “Um.” She’s always been straightforward, but Aaron’s still kind of surprised. “Nothing.”

            “You asked me on a date out of nowhere,” she reminds him, “and you don’t date.”

            “I do too.”

            “We talked about it a while ago and you said you haven’t gotten around to it.”

            He remembers that conversation. It’s looking more and more like there’s no way out of explaining this to her. “Thanks for being so nice about this,” he says in defeat.

            The server brings their food then, and if Aaron had hoped that would distract Annika he’s wrong, because she merely waves her chopsticks at him to encourage him to explain while she chooses a piece of sushi.

            “I, um. Already like someone,” Aaron says reluctantly.

            “Hmm,” she says, doesn’t ask who, thankfully.

            “And we can’t be together, so I thought I’d… I dunno, try and… not think about it.”

            “Why can’t you?”

            “Not into me like that.” He stabs at a piece of sushi, pretends to be offended when she laughs at his lack of chopstick skills. “But, yeah. We’ve always been just friends.”

            “So how come you just suddenly decided this, then?”

            “Well…” The memory darts to the forefront of his thoughts, Ryan’s lips on his, the thing that broke him, that slipped Ryan’s mind completely. “They kissed me. While drunk, though. And forgot it happened.”

            “Oh.” The look on her face is so starkly sympathetic that Aaron kind of wants to curl up and hide somewhere. Maybe in bed. That sounds particularly inviting at the moment.

            “So I figured… might as well start getting over it.”

            “How long have you been into them?” Annika asks, echoing his avoidance of pronouns, which probably means she’s figured it out anyways.

            “A long time,” Aaron sighs, “I dunno. Five years. Fuck.”

            “Long time,” she agrees softly, and the sympathy kind of kills him, that he needs it at all. “What’re you going to do?”

            “Not sure.” He goes back to trying to use his chopsticks, still failing at it pretty spectacularly. “It just. Sucks. Is all.”

            “Sounds like it.” Annika reaches over, adjusts his grip on the chopsticks. “Watching you fail was getting kind of painful,” she says, smiling.

            “Thank you, O master of chopsticks.”

            The rest of the non-date goes well; Annika is just another example of the kind of girl Aaron would be lucky to date, if his life had only been that easy and painless.

0o0o0o0o

            “Sooooo,” Brett drops into the seat next to Aaron’s before their economics class begins, “what’s up?”

            “Nothing, you?”

            “Oh, nothing. Just, you know. Life’s awesome at my place,” he says, obviously baiting. Brett’s one of Ryan’s roommates. Aaron groans inwardly, focusses on taking his notes from his backpack and finding a pen.

            “Yeah?” he says noncommittally.

            “Yeah, you know. But, now that you mention it-”

            “Didn’t.”

            “Coulda. But, Ryan’s been pretty fucked up recently.” This isn’t what Aaron was expecting, and his face must register that, because Brett frowns. “Thought you might know why. No?”

            “What’s he doing?”

            “Just been a bitch, is all.” He says it like it’s nothing, really, but Ryan’s the most easygoing guy Aaron’s ever known, and Brett tends to – Aaron doesn’t know the word, under-exaggerate? Downplay? – whatever it is, if Brett says Ryan’s messed up, Ryan’s gotta be a wreck.

            It might not be his fault, though. Aaron hasn’t seen him in ages; maybe something else has happened to Ryan. Maybe he failed something, or there was a girl involved, or something that isn’t Aaron. After all, Aaron may be incessantly linked to Ryan, but that doesn’t mean it has to go both ways. The realisation makes something inside him twist painfully, but he ignores it.

            “Could be anything. Finals start next week, maybe it’s that,” Aaron shrugs, and Brett sighs.

            “Guess so.” Brett says, and Aaron has the distinct impression Brett thinks he’s wrong.

            After class, Aaron heads out to go for a jog along the beach; the semester’s nearly over, so the sun’s finally starting to actually come out. He doesn’t pass many people on the stairs down to the beach; the stairs are his – and everyone’s, probably – least favourite part. He and Ryan once came down here for a bonfire and ended up climbing on the rocks at two AM, and he spends the entire 500-stair trek trying not to think about that night, about climbing over a huge fence and the way Ryan laughed hysterically while Aaron tried to follow him over it, helped him down from the top of the fence.

            He finally hits the sand, and heads down towards the surf. The beach has more people than usual, lots of people stretched out on beach towels with a textbook. Aaron starts running along the wet sand, and finally, he thinks about  _nothing._ He doesn’t think about Ryan and missing him, doesn’t think about the way Ryan kissed him like it should have meant something, doesn’t think about all the goals Ryan hugged him for and the ones where Ryan wasn’t even on the ice. He doesn’t have to think about anything, and it’s almost perfect, except that he’s past the point of thinking about missing Ryan, and missing him is a dull ache in Aaron’s chest. That doesn’t go away, but at least he can push away everything else, just live with the simple pain for a while.

            Aaron gets a good ways down the beach before he doubles back, slows to a walk. The way back is less of an escape, because he can see the long strip of the beach that cuts through the water, laden with the boulders him and Ryan climbed in the misty rain. They’d ended up staying awake until nearly six, because they’d run into people watching a movie back at the dorms, and because Ryan had wanted hot chocolate, and Aaron never did figure out how to say no to him.

            He’s still a good ways from the more populated stretch of the beach when he spots two vaguely familiar figures up on the sand. Squinting in the sunlight, he finally makes them out; it’s Khajit and Matt, the two first years. Khajit is sprawled out on the sand, holding a notebook up over his face, and Matt’s hunched over a textbook in his lap next to Khajit. Aaron walks even slower, can’t look away.

            Matt pushes the brim of his hat up, says something to Khajit, who props himself up on one elbow to read in the textbook. They’re sitting so close together, even with the miles of sand around them, like they gravitate to each other no matter what. Aaron would have guessed their personalities to be flipped, but Matt’s the picky one, and Khajit is at ease with everything. Even that much is glaringly obvious from their posture. As Aaron watches, Khajit tosses his notebook aside and pulls the textbook out of Matt’s lap. Matt scowls at him, and Khajit just pushes it shut.

            “Breaks are good for you!” Aaron hears Khajit’s voice float over, to background grumbling from Matt.

            They could be friends. They could be, but the longer Aaron looks, the more he starts to question it. They’re always close enough to touch, and even alone, their conversations are mostly silent, laughter in unison anyways.

            It’s obvious. Aaron couldn’t deny that if he tried, because looking at them, how could anyone ever come to a different conclusion? It was looking at something and just knowing it was different, something ineffable, it was two people living with something bigger than them, so big it was practically tangible.   

            Aaron starts down the beach again, staring resolutely down at the sand. If it was _this obvious_ in Matt and Khajit, two first years just starting on this path, Aaron’s been counting on something that was never possible. Him and Ryan, they’re farther down that road, Aaron’s full-on in love with him, and it’s obvious. It’s always been obvious. To _everyone._  There’s no way Ryan could have been completely oblivious. Maybe, Aaron thinks, that’s why Ryan’s freaking out.

            Maybe Ryan’s figured it out.

0o00o0o0o0o

            Drop-in hockey is one of the most variable things Aaron’s ever been to. Week-to-week the game changes wildly, with ranging skill level and new players and shifting competitiveness. The only thing that stays the same are the pinnies, neon pink for one team, bright turquoise for the other. Aaron’s got a turquoise one pulled over his jersey tonight. He goes out for the first shift, the puck gets shot over to his D-partner, and he receives the pass from his partner without even thinking. It’s habit.

            He looks over, and it’s  _Ryan._

            Aaron knows just where to go based on the way Ryan moves; Ryan draws the defenders around and the goalie out, and the goal becomes practically magnetic to the puck. Without thinking, he skates straight to Ryan, and Ryan hugs him so tight, it’s the first reminder Aaron’s had since he stepped onto the ice with Ryan that things aren’t really, actually normal.

            “Aaron,” Ryan says quietly, but Aaron turns away, because every second Ryan’s looking at him, he might be seeing  _everything._

            The rest of the game goes so quickly, Aaron kind of wants to hang onto each shift, stay out there on the ice where they don’t need words, where he’s allowed to spend every second in relation to where Ryan is.

            They both get dressed in silence, agonizingly slowly. Everyone else seems to be in a hurry to go somewhere, it’s still early on a Saturday night, but Aaron doesn’t have anywhere he has to be. Before long, they’re the last ones in the locker room, and Aaron can just _feel_ Ryan searching for what to say. Aaron decides to head off the problem, but when he leaves, Ryan follows him. The rink is deserted, and Aaron thinks of all the games they’ve played here, leaving after the lights were all turned off. The memories make the brightness more stark, unforgiving.

            “Aaron,” Ryan says, and somehow, the single word is so broken, and Aaron doesn’t understand. “What’d I do?” he asks, and of all the things he could have said, Aaron wasn’t expecting that. Ryan’s just watching him, dark eyes frighteningly unreadable, more serious than Aaron has ever seen him.

            “You didn’t-”

            “ _Fuck,_ Aaron!” Ryan bursts out, and his voice echoes in the empty arena, “I know I must have done something, because you won’t even talk to me anymore!”

            “You didn’t-” Aaron tries again, because if Ryan forgot it, there’s no point, it’s like it never happened.

            “Just tell me,” Ryan says, sounds so defeated, Aaron wonders for the first time what it must have looked like, from Ryan’s side of things. It wouldn’t have looked like anything, he realises; for Ryan, one day everything was fine, and the next, their everything had started to become  _nothing,_  a slow process he fought, relentless, and couldn’t beat, couldn’t even understand. Aaron rubs a hand over his mouth, looks out across the ice.

            “You kissed me,” he finally forces himself to say. “When- you were drunk, that one night we all went out, during reading break. You- that’s what you did.”

            _“Fuck,”_  Ryan hisses, and he slams his fist against the plexiglass, the rattling almost deafening in the empty rink. He doesn’t say anything more, fist still pushed up against the glass. Aaron can only look at him for a moment before it starts to hurt so much he can’t breathe, the blatant anger on Ryan’s face, and he turns to leave.

            As he climbs the stairs, he looks back, and Ryan’s still standing there, forehead tilted against the plexiglass, shoulders shaking.

_This is it,_ Aaron thinks, something in his chest hitching, starting to break; this is where everything ends, and it looks the place where everything began. Aaron doesn’t know how he’ll ever set foot on the ice again, everything so tied to Ryan; he used to just see that first day they met, when he looked at the ice, and now, now he’s going to see the anger on Ryan’s face, hear the violent rattling of the plexiglass.

            They’ve come full circle; Aaron first saw Ryan on the ice, and this is where Aaron is leaving him. He’s leaving so much of himself, too, but he should have known that’s the way it would be, because he’s going to gravitate to Ryan forever, no matter how far away he stays.

            It doesn’t matter anymore, though, because his distant orbit will fall off the edge of the universe, and even though his pull to Ryan will never go away, Ryan will stop feeling it across the ever-increasing distance between them.

            Aaron closes the door to the ice rink and pulls himself away.


	3. Chapter 3

Summer had been slow to come, with reluctant sunshine and stretches of windy days. Once classes ended, the season kept up its slow trudge. The months dragged on unbearably slowly, nothing like last summer. Last summer had been different; Aaron had spent it tackling the Grind over and over, surfing in Tofino, playing hockey as many days of the week as he could, all in between going to work and seeing everyone.

            The difference, of course, is Ryan. Last summer, Aaron had dragged Ryan up the Grind hike with him every time, a constant, whining presence at his side. He’d been there on the beach, wetsuit pulled down to his waist, spitting saltwater at Aaron. He’d been Aaron’s partner in every game, and he’d dropped by the Starbucks Aaron worked at during the slow parts of the day, ordered this ridiculous passion-fruit-raspberry-something-tea-syrup every time, endlessly amused by its pink colour. Even now, the smell of saltwater, the sweet taste of passion fruit, chilly morning mountain air, it all makes Aaron think of last summer.

            This summer, Ryan was gone. Aaron had caved after a month and asked one of their friends where Ryan had disappeared to, only to be told that Ryan had gone to stay with someone in Toronto for the summer. Ryan  _never_ did that; he lived for summers in BC. He loved the weather, all there was to do, and spending time with Aaron. At least, last summer he had. Before he kissed Aaron, ruining everything because Aaron couldn’t let it go, because Ryan obviously wished he’d never done it.

            Aaron didn’t see Ryan once this summer, and he didn’t play hockey, either. Some part of him is afraid to step on the ice again, afraid of so many things. Afraid of the pain, when he looks to his defence partner and sees that it’s not Ryan. Afraid of the memories, afraid of looking at the plexiglass and hearing it shudder in his mind, echoing through an empty rink.

            He spends the Tuesday of the Werewolves’ first game in September nervous as hell, because the last time he skated, it was with Ryan. It was before Ryan knew what he’d done, before he’d known enough to wish it had never happened. Aaron  _misses_ him, and he’s avoided ice rinks because that would make him think of Ryan, think of all the good things and the most painful thing, and they’re playing on the same ice as the last time he played with Ryan. This ache for Ryan has been a near-physical presence all summer, a figure in its absence. It was the empty space next to Aaron, the way he expected other people to know him like Ryan does, being alone when he shouldn’t have been.  

            He doesn’t expect to see Ryan when he walks into the locker room; some part of him thought Ryan was gone for good, that this was it, what the rest of his life would feel like.

            He’s  _right there,_ though, and Aaron can barely function, just sits on the bench several spots down and stares. Ryan’s there, looks exactly the same as he did before this silent summer; his jersey hangs on his lanky frame in the same way, he has the same too-small elbow pads, he’s poking at the hole in his gloves just like he always does, and for a second, it feels like nothing’s changed.

            But Ryan’s over there. He’s not right next to Aaron, they’re  _not speaking,_ and Aaron’s suddenly terrified to play, because it’s going to feel different, it’s going to feel  _wrong,_ and he focusses on getting dressed so he can’t think about it. Around him, it feels like this is the locker room of last season in every other way. Jackie’s coming in late, Matt and Khajit are sitting together, Lukesh has headphones on, Anthony is discussing the pros of not wearing socks with Jeff, there’s a box of beer on the shelf above Dan, Justin’s phone wails  _Sweet Home Alabama_ when it rings, Eric thinks he forgot one of his gloves. It all feels the same, like today could be a day last semester, months ago, except for one very important thing, making this all almost surreal, or at the very least, nightmarish.

            Aaron doesn’t play defense. He doesn’t know if Ryan’s being careful about it or if it’s just coincidence, but Ryan’s D-pairing is never on the ice when Aaron is, and it feels like he’s playing without something essential, like he stepped onto the ice without his stick, trying to score without any means of doing so.

            On the bench, his teammates aren’t mentioning anything; they don’t ask why he can’t score, why he takes too many second looks, why his passes are slightly off. Everything feels slightly different, now, like they’re a whole new team even though almost everyone’s come back. It’s like they left the locker room for a place that Aaron thought would never change, like they stepped out of last season into a new league entirely. The locker room was the same, and Aaron had thought this would all be comforting in its familiarity.

            It’s different, though. Candice is gone, Lisa’s in her place on wing. Todd’s a new defenseman. Jackie’s faster. The assistant captain’s got a better wrist shot, the captain’s more agile on her skates. Matt takes shorter shifts, and Dan doesn’t glare at him anymore for marathon shifts.

            His team’s supposed to feel like home, and maybe it will soon, but right now, all he feels is lost, like he’s in the wrong place, like this isn’t his team at all, and they’re in another rink, waiting for him, and he’s supposed to find them. He’s supposed to score goals for them, by his Ryan’s side, and Aaron doesn’t even need an alternate reality team where he’s really with Ryan, he’ll settle for just going back to the way they used to be. He aches for the way they were, but its destruction is the last thing they did together; Aaron fell in love with Ryan, and Ryan kissed him, and together, they ruined everything they’d ever had, everything that was  _them._

            Aaron plays his shifts and leaves after the game; some part of him wants to double back to the rink and check the other locker rooms, one by one, until he finds his team from last semester.

            In his dreams, he does just that, searching through so many identical locker rooms, desperate for his team, running down hallways and wrenching open doors. When he finally, finally,  _finally_ opens the door and sees Ryan sitting on the bench, he thinks it’s over, he’s finally come home, but Ryan doesn’t look at him. The door swings shut behind Aaron, the world shrinking to the locker room. Aaron still feels out of place, he isn’t wearing a jersey to match Ryan’s and it throws him off, not having any gear with him. Ryan’s helmet is sitting on the bench, and he stares down at his gloves on his hands.  

            “You’re the one that changed,” Ryan says quietly, doesn’t lift his head, “we didn’t, Aaron. You’re the one that doesn’t fit anymore.”

            “I miss you,” Aaron begs, but Ryan just shakes his head.

            “You said we’d be D-partners for life,” he whispers, and Aaron’s never  _seen_ him like this, broken open and hurt, but tonight, tonight with Ryan’s silence, he got close, and this is what happens after, “why’d you have to go and ruin everything?” Ryan buries his face in his hands, sobbing like Aaron’s single-handedly destroyed everything he had, because that’s exactly what Aaron did. Aaron can’t do anything, can’t move, just watches Ryan break down, shoulders shaking, chest heaving in sharp jags, falling apart right in front of Aaron, and Aaron _can’t do anything,_ because  _he caused this._

            Aaron’s jolted awake at five thirty AM, breathing hard, and his instincts scream to hug Ryan and make him stop crying, but Ryan’s not there, and even if he were, he wouldn’t let Aaron touch him.

00o0o0o0o0o

            They lose their first three games, and after the third, Aaron’s among the last in the locker room, hunting for his keys in his gear bag. The core five didn’t stay to drink – their game was at ten-thirty, and the team after them will be coming to use this room soon. Aaron tries not to look at their empty corner as he takes his gear back out of his bag. He starts cursing under his breath as his search continues to turn up nothing.

            “Lost something?”

            Aaron looks up, and Ryan’s sitting on the bench on the opposite wall, wearing jeans and a towel slung around his neck. Aaron looks back down.

            “Car keys,” he says quietly, because this is the first time they’ve spoken, and all the words he wants to say are fighting to get out, things like  _I’m so sorry_ and  _please be my friend again I miss you I’ll hide what I feel just take me back._

            “Oh.” Ryan doesn’t say anything else; Aaron sneaks another glance up at him, and what he sees absolutely floors him. Ryan’s tossed the towel aside and is untangling his balled-up shirt. And there on his chest, over his heart, there’s a tattoo that wasn’t there before. They’re numbers, drawn to match the numbers on the backs of their jerseys. There’s a sixty-eight and a ninety-six.  Not the ones they wear now; they came to this team late, had to take whatever they could get. Sixty-eight and ninety-six, those numbers that are  _theirs._ Ryan’s always worn ninety-six, and sixty-eight – sixty-eight is Aaron’s.

            “New tattoo?” Aaron asks, as casually as he can. Ryan shrugs a shoulder.

            “I was really drunk,” he says, “woke up and I had it.” He packs up his stuff quickly after that and leaves, and Aaron doesn’t try to stop him. It’s obvious enough that Ryan does things he regrets when he’s drunk, probably hates that second number on his chest, the one that has no place right over his heart.

            If things were the way they  _should be,_ this would all be so different, Aaron thinks. He’d have stopped Ryan from doing something stupid while drunk – or, if things really were the way they used to be, he might have gotten a tattoo to match. Whatever may have happened, this is the way things are now, Aaron’s skin unmarked and Ryan’s bearing two numbers he doesn’t want there, that show everything they used to be together, all this the physical proof they can’t escape.

            Aaron’s phone buzzes after a moment with a text from Ryan.         

             _Check ur hoodie pocket,_ it reads,  _u always forget u put ur keys there._

            He’s right, of course, but all that does is hurt, this boundless information they both have about each other, all-but useless now, pieces of that inescapable magnetism they’re fighting to leave behind so they won’t be tied to its broken pieces forever, like a ship that is slowly sinking, trying to pull them under with it. All these things they know are useless now, just proof of what they used to be, guilt them for ruining it, following them around forever to remind them of this thing they wrecked, the way all these pieces used to fit together so perfectly.  

0o0o0o0


	4. Chapter 4

Aaron lived through the summer without Ryan; it hadn’t been pleasant, hadn’t been anything short of agonising, but he made it to September without a single obscure-stakes bet, affectionate smirk or offhandedly hilarious comment to sustain him. He made it through the summer; he thought that meant he’d get through the semester okay, too.

            It doesn’t.

            Ryan’s ingrained in  _everything_. Aaron keeps finding places where Ryan’s missing in his life, and every new absence he stumbles upon _hurts,_ it’s like losing Ryan over and over again every day. Every time he almost says something to the empty space beside him, every silence in the car without someone in the passenger seat, every pause he takes to wait for someone who isn’t there to catch up, it’s losing Ryan  _every time._

            Aaron’s morning class is in a room nearly identical to the one where he had sociology with Ryan last year. He nearly passes Annika, instinctually heading to the back row.

            “Aaron!” she calls out, waving him over. Aaron glances up at the back row, but it’s empty, of course. He shakes his head, goes to sit next to Annika, tries not to think of the last few days of that class, where Ryan was there by himself, and Aaron wrongly half a classroom away.  

             _(he has no idea where Ryan is right now and the idea is terrifying)._

            This is one of his most boring classes; Aaron tries to listen for a while but ends up pulling out his phone half an hour in.

             _Think we should join a ball hockey team?_ he types into a new message, and he’s just typing in  _Ryan_ into the ‘to’ box when he stops, breathes out slowly, and deletes the message without sending it.

            It’s not the first time today he forgets Ryan isn’t a fixture in his life anymore, and it definitely won’t be the last for today, either. This morning, he’d been thinking about which bet he should repay for Ryan next, and had just settled on the skate sharpening he owes Ryan until he realised that was all over.

            Somehow, the realisation that he didn’t just  _know_  the last time Ryan had gotten his skates sharpened hurts just as acutely.

            Aaron hates himself for being relieved when it’s finally Tuesday evening and he can see Ryan at their game. Not that it resembles last semester at all- he doesn’t sit next to Ryan in the locker room or on the bench, doesn’t play at his side.

             _(he has no sense of where Ryan is anymore and looks up to see Ryan across the ice and he didn’t know Ryan was there instinctually, and it hurts, hurts so bad)._

            The game is  _violent._ Jeff has a guy in a headlock less than ten minutes into the game, Ken crushes someone against the boards a few minutes after. Aaron’s used to this, but it feels… off.

            As he waits for Matt to come off the ice so he can have a shift, Aaron figures out what’s different. Ryan’s out there, playing with Ken as his partner and as Aaron watches, Ryan gets practically cross-checked, right out there in the open.

            And Ryan… Ryan  _takes_  it. He doesn’t shove back, doesn’t turn with his fist already raised, doesn’t do anything but skate away.

            It happens again when Aaron’s on the ice. He’s guarding a winger in front of the net and Ryan’s in the corner, and Ryan gets shoved face-first into the boards, the other player’s stick across his back. Aaron can  _see_ it, the way Ryan’s decided not to fight him, his arms tensed against the boards as he just tries to get away, head down.  

            “Hey!” Ken yells from the other side, “Lay off!”

            Aaron’s already over there though, and he’s yanked the guy off of Ryan before he’s really registered what he’s even doing. Someone pulls him away before he can land more than three punches, and he gets sent to the penalty box.

             _(Someone scores and Aaron’s not there to hug Ryan for it and it’s not like Ryan would come near him anyways)_

            Aaron sits there in dead silence, staring at the plexiglass and wondering why Ryan’s lost all his fight.

0o0o0o0o0o

            Thursday afternoon is beautifully sunny. Aaron heads for the Forestry building during his long break, still consumed with worry about a paper due tomorrow. He’s never been a great writer, and this is worth  _thirty percent_ of his grade, which is, in his opinion, unfair and ridiculous, because it’s global politics, not  _English._

            He weaves his way through the bookcases, towards the back of the library where the sunlight is brightest, trying to mentally calculate how much his grade would drop if he failed the paper. The grades are weighted or something, though, so he’s stuck. He looks up when he gets to the end of the bookcase and freezes.

            He forgot. He forgot they don’t study here anymore. He forgot, and maybe Ryan did too, because Ryan’s sitting at their table, studying in the sunlight. It’s like walking into a memory, because this all looks the  _same._ Ryan’s sitting there, chin propped in his hand, reading his dog-eared book for English, biting on the end of a pen, and he looks the same. He’s not sitting in the wrong spot in the locker room, or shying away from a fight on the ice; right now, it looks like he hasn’t changed, like Aaron somehow got everything back.

            Aaron goes to walk away, but he can’t make himself move. He can’t look at this and  _leave,_ because what if it really is a way back? Right now, it feels like he dreamed the whole horrible thing, and walking away feels like the last thing he’d ever do.

            He draws in a breath and walks over to the table, pulling out the chair across from Ryan’s.

            “Hey, dude,” Ryan says, chewing on the end of his pen as he frowns down at the page. Aaron blinks, stares at him for a moment. “This is seriously the stupidest book I’ve-” he looks up suddenly, his face all kinds of unreadable. “What’re you doing here?” his voice drops, suddenly faint. Aaron shrugs a shoulder.

            “I have this paper I’m having a really fucking hard time with,” he says, hopes this is explanation enough.

            “Shocker,” Ryan says, but he kind of grins, nothing like he used to, but it’s familiar enough that Aaron can breathe again.

            “Yeah, well, fuck you, we aren’t all English majors.”

            “Thank God for that, dude, or else we’d have to read like ‘Shakespeare for Dumbasses’ in class.”

            “It’s  _For Dummies,_ not  _Dumbasses,_ you can’t seriously think they’d call a book series  _that.”_

            “I would,” Ryan shrugs, pushes his book aside. “Gimme your essay.”

            “What?”

            “It’s necromancy time, man. Gonna bring it back to life.”

            “Yeah,  _hilarious,_ asshole,” Aaron gripes, but he slides the paper over, “good luck doing a séance on that thing, it’s pretty definitely dead.”

            “Isn’t that like an exorcism?”

            “I dunno, but if that’s what it takes to help me pass, that’s cool too.”

            He watches Ryan read through it, hates himself for loving the way Ryan corrects grammar like every mistake is a personal affront, the way he shakes his head at the worst lines. Mostly, though, he hates himself for having missed this so much, the way that sitting here with Ryan in this sunlit room feels like coming home.

0o0o0o0o0o0

            Ryan’s bedroom looks the same as always, mercifully. Aaron doesn’t know what he’d do if it didn’t, couldn’t stand the thought that anything changed in his absence. Then again, obviously  _something_ has, and he wishes it was something tangible, not that ineffable something that’s made Ryan just a shade different. They’re trying to put things back together between them, but it’s like the picture changed, the pieces don’t fit exactly right anymore.

            He’s watching Ryan pack for winter break, and it reminds him of that summer when Ryan went on a family reunion, the way Aaron hated Ryan for leaving him. This makes it feel almost normal, because he’d watched Ryan pack for that trip too, just as caught between resenting watching Ryan get ready to leave him, and wanting to spend as much time with Ryan as possible before he left.

            “Wonder what the snow’s gonna be like there,” Ryan says, digging through his dresser in search of gloves. He glances over his shoulder towards Aaron, who’s lying on his bed.

            “Annika was up there a week ago, said it was like, a foot of visibility.” He watches the way Ryan frowns at that, remembers the perfectly clear day at Grouse, sunlight glinting off their goggles’ lenses.

            “Who?” Ryan asks.

            “This girl I know. We’ve gone out a couple times,” he adds, because maybe he can convince Ryan – something, he’s not sure what. That he’s in love with a girl? It seems too late for that.

            “Oh. Well, maybe it’ll have cleared up by now.” He goes back to rummaging through the drawers and Aaron watches, chin on his folded arms.

            Technically, he hasn’t been out with Annika at all since their first sort-of-date; when they go places, it’s strictly as friends, and she occasionally tries to ply him for more information about what’s going on with him and the mysterious someone he’s, in her words, hooked on. He’s thought about dating her, dating any girl, but can’t make himself want to.

            He’s thought about finally giving in, now that he’s figured it all out, and dating guys, but he  _can’t._ He’s thought about it a few times, thought that maybe, he’ll be able to pull away from the pull that is Ryan; the problem would be making himself  _want_ to do it, and he’s thought about it. He’s thought about it, whether he’d want someone drastically different or as similar as possible. Aaron has tried to think about what he could do, but now he’s here, watching the way Ryan frowns when he can’t find things, licks his lip when he’s thinking, smirks at Aaron and just can’t make it look arrogant at all, and Aaron can’t want anyone but him.

0o0o0o0o

            He hasn’t come to any conclusions about what to do, but a few days after Christmas, Aaron’s at least figured out a few things. If nothing else, he’s positive that he can’t fool himself into thinking he likes girls anymore; he can’t go back to that fragile threshold stage where he could blame it on everything but him.

            His older brother’s back from grad school for the break, and Friday morning, they’re playing Halo, chirping each other as loudly and obscenely as they want, their parents out to brunch.

            “Hey,” Jacob says offhandedly, after spending a good minute laughing hysterically at Aaron’s sniping fail and subsequent death by walking backwards off a cliff, “what d’you wanna tell me?”

            “Uh,” Aaron frowns at the screen, where he’s trying to line up his shot, “that you suck?”

            “Besides that.”

            “Nothing?” He looks over at the other end of the couch, where Jacob is sprawled out.

            “You’re aware I’m your brother, right?”

            “No, I forgot. What’re you even talking about?”

            Jacob just looks at him, and Aaron’s going to protest that he has no idea what’s going on, but then it hits him; he’s been thinking about what to tell Jacob of the whole ordeal that’s going on.

            “Nothing,” Aaron says guiltily. Jacob kicks his knee. “I was gonna tell you eventually.”

            “And?” Jacob hits pause, looks over at Aaron expectantly.

            “Uh. Well.” Aaron studies the buttons on his controller, tracing his finger around them.

            “You have five seconds.”

            “Jacob-”

            “Five.”

            “Seriously?”

            “Four.”

            “And then what?”

            “Then I’ll hit you. Three.”

            “You can’t do that!”

            “Watch me. Two.”

            “Jacob!”

            “One-” Jacob sits up, fist raised, grinning.

            “I’m gay,” Aaron blurts out. Jacob sighs out a breath, flopping back against the cushions.

            “All this drama for that. I could have told you that. But thanks for the newsflash anyways.”

            “You- what? Then why  _didn’t_ you?”

            “Because how would that have gone? ‘hey, bro, just so you know? You’re gay, especially for Ryan. Have a good day!’ Really?”

            “I-” Aaron falls silent for a moment, frowning. “That obvious?”

            “I dunno, dude. I could understand you before you could talk and were still doing the whole charades thing, it’s probably not obvious to everyone.”

            “Probably,” Aaron echoes.

            “It’s cool, okay?” Jacob nudges Aaron with his foot, “I’d rather have a brother-in-law than a sister-in-law. Plus, he’s got a sick slapshot, I wouldn’t mind spending family reunions and shit learning that.”

            “We’ll see about that,” Aaron says, and he’s glad when Jacob unpauses their game and they can go back to just playing and insulting each other.

            Later that evening, Aaron’s sitting on the couch, setting up his mother’s new phone for her when Jacob walks back into the living room.

            “See you later,” he says, leans over the back of the couch to peer at the screen.

            “Goin’ out?”

            “Yup, everyone’s here on break.” He pushes himself back up, but pauses. “Somethin’ happened between you guys, didn’t it?” Aaron wants to have to ask what he’s talking about, but he knows, instantly.

            “Yeah,” he mumbles, not looking up. “Kissed me when he was drunk, regrets it like hell. Everything’s fucked up.”

            “Sorry.” Jacob squeezes his shoulder, lingers a moment longer, “there’ll be someone better someday.”

            That’s the problem, though; Aaron  _wishes_ he only loved Ryan for that, that Ryan was something perfect and irresistible universally. Ryan’s not, he’s really not. He can be self-centered, he doesn’t talk a lot in groups, has a sense of humour that verges on offensive sometimes, sulks hard when he’s in a bad mood. Aaron doesn’t love him for being perfect, he loves him for being  _Ryan,_ and that’s why this will never leave him; other people could be perfect; no one will ever be exactly like Ryan. What Aaron’s lost, what he never really had, isn’t replaceable, can’t even be mimicked. Ryan’s self-centeredness is underlined with a mix of insecurity and a need to be close to someone; he doesn’t talk in groups but he talks nonstop when they’re alone; he’s admittedly moody, but his good moods seem relentless despite the occasional drops. He’s not perfect; Aaron loves him for the unique mix of his strengths and faults and everything else that makes Ryan the way he is.

            Aaron was never looking for perfection. He wasn’t looking for anything, but still he gravitated towards Ryan, like everything in him already knew what Aaron couldn’t admit aloud, that Ryan is his other half, that Ryan is someone Aaron will never be able to walk away from.

            He wasn’t looking for perfection, but he found Ryan, and forgot that perfection meant anything other than the way it felt when Ryan treated him like he was the most important thing in the world.


	5. Chapter 5

Aaron is studying with Annika in the far corner of the library that Aaron rarely frequents; it’s too dark, too cold, and the bookcases are on weird tracks, with wheels on the sides to move them back and forth to access aisles. Annika likes it because it’s quiet; Aaron likes it for the same reason he hates it – it’s not sunny.

            Annika shuts her textbook, starts packing up. Aaron looks up from across the table. “Class?”

            “Few minutes. By the way, what’s your resolution?”

            “What resolution?”

            “New years!”

            “Oh. Don’t have one, I’m perfect,” he says, and it twinges painfully, because Ryan says that every year.

            “Want to know mine?” Annika smiles, a little too slyly for it to be entirely innocent.

            “Do I?”

            “I’ve resolved to do everything I can to help people in my life,” Annika says grandly.

            “That’s nice.” Aaron unzips his backpack to put away his notebook, takes out his textbook and a highlighter even though Ryan’s informed him countless times that highlighting is useless, but he’s probably only jealous because he never has highlighters. “Gonna do like… puppy rescue or something?”

            “Puppies aren’t people.”

            “Oh shit, I hadn’t noticed!” he grins, and she waves a hand in exasperation.

            “You’re my first subject.”

            “Uh, no thanks.”

            “Not negotiable,” she smiles sweetly as she packs up her books. “Sorry.”

            “Helping someone against their will isn’t really _helping.”_

“Sure it is! Are you free tonight?”

            “Um.” Aaron’s pretty sure this is going to be dangerous, but he still says, “yeah.”

            “Great! Remember that sushi place we went to?”

            “How is taking you out to dinner you helping me?”

            “Just show up there at eight.” Annika  stands, puts her bag’s strap over her shoulder, “dress nice!”

            Aaron should have _known._ When he gets to the restaurant, he doesn’t suspect anything at first. Just inside the door, the hostess counts out menus for a group of people; two teenagers sit on the couch, holding hands; beside them sits a guy Aaron’s age, with light brown spiky hair, biceps outlined by his button-up shirt’s sleeves, and green eyes that light up when he sees Aaron.

            _No way,_ Aaron thinks, but then the guy’s come over to him, all smiles.

            “You’ve gotta be Aaron,” he says, “I’m Jordan,” and Aaron’s going to _kill_ Annika. “She’s told me all about you.”

            “She wouldn’t even tell me I was meeting you here,” Aaron says, because even though he’s going to kill Annika, Jordan does seem perfectly nice. “Guess she’s running a secret dating service.”

            They get seated near the back - not at the counter, before the little moat that carries boats of sushi around the counter, and Aaron’s glad for that, because he came here with Ryan once, and he can’t look at it without thinking of the way Ryan liked to read the names on the back of the boats and wanted to capsize them. Aaron definitely doesn’t want to think about Ryan right now.

            “So how do you know Annika?” Aaron asks after they’ve gotten their food, already talked about themselves.

            “I play rugby with a friend of hers, Craig; he brought her as a date to a team party thing. He left to pick up one of our teammates that got a flat tire on the way, so she hung out with the rest of us,” Jordan grins, “we hit it off, and if I wasn’t gay, I think Craig might have killed me.”

            “You know what,” Aaron says slowly, “I never told her I was into dudes. I wonder how-”

            “She told me she was ninety percent sure,” Jordan says, “something about her being blessed with radar or something.”

  1.             “She must have figured it out the time I took her on a date,” Aaron realises, “she could tell I wasn’t actually into her.” Jordan laughs at that.          



            “Between that and the radar, that must be it,” he says. For some reason, Aaron finds himself thinking that Ryan would have said something different, like _you mean dating is for people you like? You’re a genius!,_ but Jordan obviously doesn’t have the same weird, sarcastic sense of humour, and Aaron isn’t going to compare them, he’s _not._

            “She said she’s gonna help people this year,” Jordan says, shakes his head, laughing, “when I met her, I was into a teammate who was straight, but that was a year ago or something, and she’s determined to help.”

            “How charitable of her – I suggested puppy rescue, but that wasn’t good enough,” Aaron says, because he can’t talk about onesided things, he _can’t._

            The date goes well enough, Aaron guesses, but all that sticks with him are the ways that Jordan is nothing like Ryan.

0o0o0o0o0o

 

            It’s been a while since Aaron went over to Ryan’s place uninvited. It didn’t used to be a _thing;_ normally, he wouldn’t be nervous. He used to do this all the time, because there was no reason Ryan would do anything but let him in and they’d spend the afternoon together.

            Ryan looks just a little surprised when he opens the door, but he says “what’s up?” and walks back into the apartment expecting Aaron to follow, so at least everything hasn’t been horribly changed.

            “What’re you doing?” Aaron asks, leaving his sneakers by the door and trailing after Ryan. Ryan’s got his stuff all over the coffee table in the living room, because he hates working at a desk.

            “I’m done my paper,” Ryan sits back on the couch, Aaron taking the other side of it. He tosses his phone onto the table, sprawls back across the cushions.

            “Good," he says decisively. 

            “Good?”

            “Good,” Aaron repeats. Ryan pushes his laptop across the table towards Aaron.

“Have at it,” he says, and it's kind of thrilling, that they can still do this, entire conversations without needing all the words. Aaron starts picking through the paper for mistakes; Ryan’s a good writer, but he’s notorious for typos, skipped words and formatting mistakes. It’s just a paper about social symbols; Aaron’s never actually read any of Ryan’s English papers. He kind of wants to, doesn’t know how to ask.

            His phone buzzes on the table. Aaron looks around Ryan’s laptop, which is balanced precariously against his knees. “Tell me what it says?” he asks. Ryan picks up the phone, and Aaron can’t see his face, but Ryan makes a weird little noise, sounds confused.

            “Who’s Jordan?” he asks. “They say they had a good time last night and want to see you again soon.”

            “Went on a date last night,” Aaron stares at the screen, refuses to look over, “Annika set me up with Jordan.”

            “Oh,” Ryan sets the phone back down, stands, “I’m starving, want anything?” Aaron looks up, and catches this _look_ on Ryan’s face, practically a fucking glare, and Aaron doesn’t know what he did, wants to ask but doesn’t dare, because it’s gone already anyways.

            “Anything,” Aaron says, watches Ryan walk into the kitchen. He’d been expecting- well, _something._ Ryan usually asked about his dates, but he’d said practically nothing. “You haven’t gone out with anyone in a while,” Aaron points out when Ryan comes back in, with the kind of fire-roasted chipotle chips he always gets; Aaron’s grown to like them, they’re all Ryan ever gets.

            “Yeah,” Ryan shrugs, “how’s editing going?”

            “Well,” Aaron tries to adjust to the blitz of a subject change, “you spelled ‘therefore’ with like, four r’s. Probably deserve an award for a typo like that.”

            “Maybe it’s just a new word you haven’t heard of.”

            “Yeah, that and _adjfdditnoally,_ that’s definitely a new one, too.”

            “You’re just jealous my dictionary’s obviously superior to yours.”

            He wants to ask Ryan more, wants to ask _why haven’t you dated anyone,_ and _why do you look at me like you hate me sometimes,_ and if he was asking difficult questions anyways, he’d want to ask _what can I do to get you back the way we used to be?_ Maybe it’s a mark of how much of a coward he is, that he can’t even consider saying _I’m in love with you_ even in his imagined conversations.

0o0o0o0o       

            Wednesday afternoon, Aaron’s in the hallway of one of the Buchannan buildings – he has no idea which, they all look the goddamn same, and he’s been here _four years_ and still gets confused – waiting for Ryan. They’ve both got a few hours between classes, and Aaron’s trying not to be too excited about the fact that they’re going to go grab lunch together. It’s just like they used to do practically every single day, but he can’t count on those things anymore; the old fixtures of his life have become painfully valuable.

            “Aaron!” He turns towards the voice, and it’s Jordan, a backpack slung over one shoulder. “Don’t usually see you around here,” he says, smiling in a way Aaron _knows_ he should appreciate more. Jordan’s easy to like and certainly easy to look at; admittedly, Aaron knows most people would find him better looking than Ryan. Jordan’s built to Ryan’s lean, his hair looks soft and effortless while Ryan’s sticks up in messy spikes, his sense of humour’s less sharp, he talks a lot while Ryan’s become so quiet, but Jordan’s main quality to Aaron is that _he’s not Ryan,_ and that’s all Aaron really sees when he looks at Jordan.

            “Waiting for someone,” Aaron says, returns the smile, because when it comes down to it, Jordan’s one very specific thing that Ryan is not: Jordan is happy to be Aaron’s. “How about you?”

            “Just had econ. God, that _class,”_ he shakes his head. “Glad it’s over.” He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder, looks up at Aaron almost coyly. “We should do something again soon,” he says.

            “Hey.” Aaron hadn’t even seen Ryan come up, but suddenly he’s standing there before them, and it’s strange to see him next to Jordan.

            “Hey, dude,” Aaron says, then looks back to Jordan, who’s watching him with the kind of cheerfully hopeful look Aaron never sees on Ryan. “We should,” he says, and Jordan’s green eyes light up. “Maybe Friday?”

            “Great,” Jordan smiles, so bright that Aaron has to wonder if it’s obvious, that they’re planning a date, but he doesn’t look at Ryan to find out.

            After Jordan leaves, Aaron and Ryan head out of the building, and when Ryan’s weirdly quiet all afternoon, Aaron tries not to think of the way Jordan can happily fill silences.

            Mostly, though, he thinks of the way Ryan used to be like that too.

0o0o0o00o0o

            Aaron finds Ryan in their corner of the Forestry library on Friday afternoon. It’s sunnier than it’s been all week, and Aaron can see a bunch of people on the small field they can see from the window.

            “Uh,” he says as he sits down, “what the hell are they doing down there?”

            “What, the weirdos with the broomsticks?”

            “No, Ry, the _other_ weirdos.” This makes Ryan look up from his textbook and grin.           

            “They’re playing that game from Harry Potter.”

            “Well, right, but why the broomsticks?”

            “I dunno… authenticity?”

            “Seems pointless if they can’t fly.”

            “Maybe you should go tell them that. ‘Excuse me, dumbasses, you’re not flying.”

            “Maybe I should,” Aaron takes out his textbook, the only thing he needs. The highlighting makes him a little wistful, even though he’s right here with Ryan. “Seriously, though, what an inefficient way to run.”

            “Dude, they’re pretending they can _fly._ They’re not exactly the type to be bothered by something like efficiency, or how stupid they look,” Ryan says, and fuck, but Aaron misses his kind of weird humour whenever he’s with anyone else.

            A little while passes before Ryan looks up from his book again. “Doing anything tonight?” he asks. Aaron pauses, highlighter hovering over the text. “Was thinking, we should go out.”

            “Really,” Aaron says, and he tries, he tries _so_ fucking hard not to be mad. It practically feels like Ryan’s _trying_ to hurt him, though, because the last time they went out, they ruined everything, and practically a whole year later, they’re _still not the same;_ Aaron’s starting to think they never will be. Last time he went out with Ryan, he lost his best friend; Aaron’s terrified to think what he’d lose if he tried it again.

            “Yeah, I mean, we haven’t been in forever-”

            “Well why the _fuck_ do you think that is?!” Aaron snaps, and before he can really think it through, he’s already grabbed his textbook and backpack and stalked away, Ryan absolutely silent.

            Aaron hesitates halfway down the aisle between bookcases, looks back. Ryan isn’t looking over; he’s got his head on his arms atop the table, still silent. Aaron walks quietly away.

            He goes over what happened again and again, all through the afternoon, through dinner with Jordan. He somehow manages to convince Jordan he’s really altogether there, and Jordan doesn’t seem to notice a thing. They meet up with Annika and a bunch of other people for a while, some of them ending up back at Jordan’s place.

            There’s conversation that distracts from how Aaron’s not really entirely there, enough people that no one notices, can’t tell that he’s back at the library with Ryan, watching their brief conversation again and again, as if he’ll glean some new insight.

            Eventually, though, Jordan’s three friends run out to grab food for them, and it’s just him and Jordan left on the couch.

            “Sorry my friends have terrible taste in movies,” Jordan says, grinning over at him. “Somehow, they’re all hipsters. I _really_ don’t know how that happened.”

            “Can’t escape ‘em,” Aaron agrees, “I had a teammate that was all into that kind of thing. Got us hooked on goddamn hipster beer.”

            “You like hipster beer?” Jordan laughs, and he does look great when he laughs, all lit up like that. “Too funny.”

            “It’s good!” Aaron protests, “just… not mainstream.” This just makes Jordan laugh more.

            “We oughta re-introduce you to real drinks slowly, then” Jordan says, and he scoots over to hold his nearly empty can out to Aaron, “we call this _Molson-”_

“Very funny,” Aaron says, and he can’t follow it, he can’t, because one second they’re talking about beer, and the next, Jordan’s kissing him.

            Jordan’s good at it; there’s no doubt about that. He’s mastered the art, kisses Aaron gentle and easy and natural, his hand light on Aaron’s arm.

            “Wait,” Aaron says finally, “I- remember how you said you were into a teammate?”

            “Uh, sure.” Jordan gives him a confused look. “That was a year ago, though.”

            “Yeah, but, um. The reason Annika wanted to help me, by introducing me to you? It’s because she knew I was into someone that didn’t- didn’t want me. I’m- my best friend, I- I can’t do this.”

            “But he’s not-”

            “I know,” Aaron looks down, because he doesn’t want to see the disappointment on Jordan’s face. “But I can’t-”

            “It’s okay,” Jordan says gently. “I get it.”

            It’s hard to walk away from something he knows would have been good in any other circumstance, but it can’t work now, because Jordan’s so _not Ryan_ that it hurts. Aaron always gravitates towards Ryan, this unbalanced pull, because how could this ever sustain him? Even if it’s a one-sided gravitation, Aaron isn’t ready to leave it, doesn’t know if he’ll ever even want to.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

            The week drags by; hockey doesn’t start until nearly February, and classes are slow to pick up. Aaron doesn’t see Ryan, barely talks to him at all, this life-sustaining relationship reduced to a few texts that somehow keep him going through the week.

            “I need to find another place before this one runs out,” Sean’s saying, amongst the clattering sounds of someone shoving things around in the refrigerator. “But in North Van. No fucking way am I taking the ferry to work every day, or whatever.”

            “North Van,” Drew snickers, “I already got a place lined up.”

            “Yeah, in _Halifax,_ which is like, a third as cool.”

            “As if.”

            Aaron’s had a job lined up for a while, thanks to his dad’s friend, but he hasn’t looked at apartments yet. Much as he currently wishes his roommates would disappear- or at least have a mute button – he’s going to miss living with them. It’ll be weird to think of a place without Sean’s offbeat music, Tim’s health food and Drew’s ten pairs of shoes as _home._ It’s hard to even imagine living without them, really; he’s just glad Sean and Tim are staying around Vancouver, and that Drew will keep in touch even from Halifax.

            Moving out won’t keep them apart; an apartment wasn’t the only thing holding them together. The realisation quickly becomes bitter, though, because they’re all graduating – Aaron’s mind makes the jumps quickly, things getting progressively worse. Graduation means rec hockey will be over, classes will be over; he barely sees Ryan outside of those things now, because this past year has taken away everything but those few points of contact. Without these things that hold them together, without the way they used to be, the thing that made being apart unbearable, Ryan’s going to leave.

            “See you guys,” he calls out, and leaves before he can re-think this.

            Ryan looks surprised to see him, but he looks kind of glad, too, and lets Aaron in without even asking why he’s here.  
            “Both my roommates are gone until Sunday,” he says, “it’s so fucking quiet here.”

            “That’s why I’m here, I’m psychic,” Aaron says, grins when Ryan smiles.  

            “Well, seeing as that’s your mission, you may as well stay until tomorrow,” he says, and it’s just like they used to do, spend the night at each other’s places. It used to be unspoken, such an obvious assumption they didn’t even have to ask, but Aaron will take what he can get.

            They spend a few hours playing video games and chirping each other enthusiastically, and Aaron lets Ryan talk him into a horror movie fest.

            “There’s a reason I hate horror,” he says as he follows Ryan to his room, “it’s because it makes being at home alone fucking _terrifying.”_

“Pathetic,” Ryan says, grins over his shoulder at Aaron. “It’s just us here. No ghosts, I promise. Except that one that lives in the kitchen-”

            “Hilarious.”

            He sits on Ryan’s bed, watches Ryan hunt around for his phone charger. Ryan’s room looks slightly different from last time; nothing drastic, but it reminds Aaron that he hasn’t been here in a long time, how _wrong_ that is.

            “Hey, Ryan,” he says, and he _sees_ the way Ryan’s shoulders tense at that. Ryan doesn’t turn around, though, just continues to look through a desk drawer.

            “What?”

            “You’ve, um. Is something wrong?” he ventures, and he can’t go back now, much as he suddenly wishes he could. Ryan freezes.

            “No,” he says instantly.

            “Yeah, right.”

  1.             “It’s nothing,” Ryan amends. His hand’s tight around the side of the desk, though, as if Aaron needed more proof that Ryan’s lying.          The desk is right next to the bed, and Ryan’s standing close enough to touch, not that Aaron would dare. It’s already darker in here, only the desklamp on, because they were going to go back to the living room, but now nothing’s moving, now Aaron doesn’t know what’ll happen after this. 



            “Look, I- I know that- the thing that happened, it… fucked things up,” Aaron says uncertainly, and Ryan turns to look at him. He has this look on his face though, like he’s terrified of what Aaron will say next, but also like he already hates Aaron for it.

            “I know,” Ryan says, and he sounds so _tortured,_ as if Aaron needs reason to feel even worse about ruining them.

            “I don’t get it, I thought – can’t we just move on from – that thing, that happened?”

            “Move on?” Ryan snarls, and Aaron feels like he missed something, like there’s a piece missing that makes this make sense, but Ryan’s glaring at him like he never has before and Aaron can’t find any words. “Fuck _you,_ okay, what more do you _want_ from me?! Isn’t it enough, what I have to do?” Ryan looks like he wants to keep practically yelling, but he stops abruptly, jaw tight. “I get that we’re gonna pretend it never happened, okay? So why can’t _you_ get that I can’t- I can’t make myself forget it. That’s just asking too goddamn much.”

            “I wish it never happened,” Aaron manages, can barely force out the words, because Ryan’s so _angry,_ everything Aaron feared suddenly so obviously present.

            “How the _fuck_ do you think I feel?” Ryan snaps back.

            “I don’t know,” he says desperately, this whole thing spinning away from him, so confusing and strangely powerful, like all this means something he just can’t see. “Just- tell me- what, I don’t know, everything.”

            “You already know everything,” Ryan says, suddenly sounds so broken, just like he did in that dream Aaron had, and he _never_ wanted to hear Ryan like that in real life. He sits on the bed by Aaron, stares at the ground. “I’ll do whatever, okay? Anything. But you can’t fucking expect me to… to do _more_. Because I’ve _tried_ , and I fucking _can’t,_ Aaron! I wish I could, I really, really fucking do, okay? He buries his head in his hands, shoulders hunched protectively, “just go away,” he whispers.

            Aaron can’t find any words, tries to figure out what he’s saying, what’s going _on,_ just can’t figure it out. Seeing Ryan this upset makes him want to die, though, because it’s _all his fault._

            “Ryan- I’m sorry, I am, I didn’t- I don’t know what to do, okay? I mean- I can really try and- just forget that everything happened, and we can be normal again,” Aaron tries, but this is such the wrong thing to say that it hurts, because Ryan starts sobbing, harsh, jerking sobs like he’s in pain.

            “I ruined everything,” he says hoarsely, and Aaron aches to make him _stop,_ but Ryan doesn’t even look at him. “If I’d never- we’d still- everything would be fine,” he chokes out, and Aaron finally slips an arm around him, hugs him tight, because he’s never seen Ryan this upset before, _never,_ and it’s like straight out of his nightmares, where everything’s wrong and painful and he’s ruined Ryan, all this just because of the way he feels. Aaron feels like he’s going to fall to pieces, but he can’t, because he ruined everything and the least he can do is put Ryan back together, put them back together.

            Ryan’s sobbing, though, he’s falling apart before Aaron’s eyes, and Aaron doesn’t know if he can fix them, doesn’t know if he can even save Ryan from this, this disaster that was entirely Aaron’s fault.

            “This meant the fucking world to me,” Ryan manages, “Fuck, Aaron, what more do you want from me?”

            “I’m sorry,” Aaron says desperately, because asking Ryan to pretend like Aaron isn’t in love with him, it’s asking him to pretend like everything hasn’t changed, like nothing ever broke.

 It’s obvious that this is the worst thing Aaron could have done to him, to become this important to Ryan and then ruin everything they had. Maybe this gravitation isn’t one-sided, because Aaron drew Ryan in, this life-defining friendship, and then destroyed it, leaving Ryan with nothing to hold onto.

            Aaron can’t _take_ how thoroughly he’s destroyed his best friend, the one he _loves._ Losing the love that would have been the world to him was one thing, and Aaron thought it was the most painful thing that could ever happen. He was wrong, though. Being the one to destroy Ryan, leave him wrecked and sobbing, this hurts more than just losing Ryan ever could. He wants to fix it, but every word he says only makes Ryan cry, and Aaron gives up, just hugs Ryan tight and doesn’t say anything anymore.

            He wishes he wasn’t in love with Ryan, wishes that the only thing he wants wasn’t the thing that’s ruining them, left them abandoned and so broken, nowhere to go from here.

            Aaron thinks of that first day he met Ryan, eighteen years ago, back when they weren’t even _capable_ of thinking about where they’d end up. Now that he knows that this is where they end up, Aaron loving Ryan this much, Ryan breaking down piece by piece, Aaron thinks of this friendship that has changed _everything_ for him, this friendship he wouldn’t trade for the world.

            With Ryan sobbing quietly beside him, all Aaron can do is hold Ryan tight and wish they’d never met.

0o0o000o

 


	6. Chapter 6

Aaron barely slept all night. He lay awake on the couch in Ryan’s room, listening to Ryan sniffle himself to sleep, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed with Ryan and hold him tight. He wants to let Ryan hide against him, stroke his hair and wipe his tears and promise never to do this again. He can’t, of course he  _can’t,_ because what he wants is what got them into this mess in the first place. Ryan wouldn’t be a wreck if he didn’t know Aaron loves him this much. The way he’d cried still tears at Aaron even this many hours later, as vivid as if it had happened mere seconds ago. Every single detail of it is painful. The way Ryan just couldn’t stop sobbing, like he’s been hiding this for a long time. His mess of words, strained like each one had to be wrenched from him. The way he tensed up when Aaron touched him, cried harder at every word Aaron said, leaving Aaron helpless because everything he did only made it worse, because he’d caused all of this, just him.

            Ryan’s still asleep; he’s buried under blankets, curled up against the wall next to his bed. It had taken a long time for him to fall asleep, his breathing uneven for a long time after he’d crawled under the blankets. He’d laid there unmoving in the dark, face turned against the pillow, as if that would keep Aaron from hearing him. Aaron watches him for a moment, slips out once he’s satisfied that Ryan isn’t about to wake up. Part of him wants to leave, doesn’t want to have to face Ryan in the light of the morning. Part of him is disgusted by the impulse, because Ryan is his  _best friend;_ Aaron owes him so fucking much more than just this.

            He ends up in the kitchen and sits at the table, stares at the orange ball sitting in the middle of it. They used to play ball hockey together, with a bunch of other kids. The older boys had put seven-year-old Aaron in goal, and by the time they were done firing shots at him, he’d been bruised all over, bottom lip quivering as he refused to cry; he doesn’t remember the pain so much as he remembers the game a few days later. The boys had tried to push Aaron into the goal again, and Ryan wouldn’t let them, yelled at them until they put him in goal instead. Ryan had left the game with more bruises than Aaron had gotten, but he’d been grinning because he’d gotten what he wanted: Aaron hadn’t been forced to stand in goal again. After that first game, Aaron remembers sitting on the sidewalk, Ryan next to him, after everyone else had gone home. Aaron remembers that he didn’t feel bad about crying in front of Ryan, because he wasn’t like everyone else, he wouldn’t care.

            He thinks of the way Ryan hid his face, hunched his shoulders, tensing at Aaron’s touch, shame burning his face, wonders when and how and  _why_ everything changed so deeply.

            A door opens and closes and Aaron flinches, looks up expecting to see Ryan. It’s not Ryan, though, it’s his roommate Brett, walking into the kitchen as he takes off his jacket.

            “Aaron! Good to see you, man,” Brett says, looks almost surprised to see Aaron here. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he adds, because Brett doesn’t leave much unsaid. Aaron shrugs, rolls the ball across the table between his hands. “Ryan’s been a little, uh…” he pauses, throws his jacket onto a chair and walks to the refrigerator. He opens the door, busies himself moving things around. “Weird,” he concludes. Aaron clenches the orange ball in his hand hard.

            “Weird,” he repeats, and this is all  _so wrong,_ what he’s done.

            All thoughts of leaving are gone, though; Aaron owes Ryan this much at the very fucking least. He looks up at the sound of footsteps, and this time it is Ryan, standing there in shorts and a faded t-shirt.

            “Hey guys,” he says, goes to join Brett at the refrigerator. “You’re back early,” he says to Brett.

            “Yeah, I have a paper to do I forgot about, figured I should get on that.”

            Aaron doesn’t say anything, watching Ryan and hating himself for everything he sees. Ryan’s trying  _so hard_ to act normal, and that alone is painful. Ryan looks  _drained,_ like he didn’t sleep at all, and when he’s not talking, he’s staring into space, completely gone.

            “What’re you guys doing tonight?” Brett asks, and Aaron decides to jump in.

            “We should all go out,” he says, cuts a glance to Ryan. Ryan is just looking at him, nothing in his eyes. “It’d be fun.”

            “Yeah, definitely,” Ryan says, maybe kind of tonelessly, but Brett’s already talking about where they could go.

            If they’re ever going to go back to normal, Aaron knows he needs to actually move on, and maybe this is a way to start, because they can’t stay where they are now. He wants to leave here and never come back, this horrible place in their relationship where Ryan cries and Aaron can’t do anything to help him.

            Ryan’s just looking at him, though, like he’s maybe done something wrong, and Aaron doesn’t want to think about how, actually, he has  _no idea_ what to do.

            Brett wanders out of the kitchen after a while, and Ryan sits across the table from Aaron, reaches over to take the ball as it rolls between Aaron’s hands. He doesn’t say anything.

             _“I’m just… gonna go to bed now,”_ Ryan had said last night, held back tears long enough to say that. Aaron had just nodded mutely, slid off the bed.  _“Will you stay?”_ Ryan had asked, in this small voice that had made Aaron want to die.

             _“Yeah,”_ he’d said, and fuck if the single word from him hadn’t practically made Ryan start to cry again. They’d turned out the light and pretended to go to sleep, Ryan hiding under the covers and pretending like he wasn’t crying himself to sleep, Aaron listening from across the room, every sound a wound.

            “I’m sorry,” he says, watching Ryan’s hands as he played with the ball.

            “It’s fine,” Ryan says hoarsely.

            “But I-” he doesn’t know what to do, how to fix it; maybe he should have gotten down on his knees last night, begged to know  _what can I do to make this better,_ should have demanded  _tell me what you want me to do,_ maybe he should have, but Ryan had just sobbed harder every time Aaron had said something, every time Aaron touched him.

            “Forget it,” Ryan says firmly, as if Aaron ever could.

0o0o0o0o0o

            That night, they’re standing in line outside of Venue, and Aaron’s starting to doubt that this was a good idea. Really, really doubt it. A bunch of people had turned up tonight, Drew, Brett and Annika among them, and that wouldn’t have been a problem, but Annika brought a few people too, and now Ryan is snapping at Jordan every time he talks.

            “I’ve never been here before,” Jordan says pleasantly.

            “Everyone has,” Ryan replies, too coldly for it to be conversational. Aaron leans around the people in front of them, breathes a sigh of relief to see the line moving a little faster. Ryan’s already insulted Jordan over five times. In ten minutes. Jordan catches Aaron’s eye, frowns a little. Aaron offers a  _sorry about him_ look and Jordan smiles a little. Aaron’s relieved that Jordan seems completely fine spending time near him despite their last date. He really doesn’t need another conflict tonight.

            “I like this place,” Aaron says to Jordan, feels sort of responsible for Ryan’s apparent mission to ruin the night for whoever is standing near him, which has been Jordan this whole time.

            “Looks cool,” Jordan agrees. “Too bad we didn’t hit up Hard Candy at Celebs,” he says, and is probably the only person Aaron’s ever known who can make winking look suave.

            “Hey,” Ryan tugs on Aaron’s sleeve.

            “What?”

            “Um. How much longer is the line?”

            “I dunno, Ry. Five minutes, maybe?”

            “What’s the DJ like here?” Jordan asks. Aaron expects Ryan to answer, always seems to know about who’s playing what, but Ryan doesn’t say anything, and Aaron answers instead.

            Aaron had thought Ryan would mellow out after they get into the club, but he’s wrong. When Ryan isn’t pointedly ignoring Jordan, he’s being snappish.

            “C’mon,” Aaron finally says to Ryan, pulling on his wrist. “Let’s go get drinks.” He leads Ryan away from the table where everyone’s sitting, Ryan following unresistingly halfway across the club until Aaron realises he’s still holding Ryan’s wrist and lets go.

            “There you guys are!” Brett’s voice reaches Aaron over the music. “What’re you guys getting?”

            “Dunno yet. You?” Aaron asks Ryan, who shrugs.

            “Nothin’,” he says. Aaron frowns in confusion, looks at Brett, who doesn’t seem at all surprised.

            “Stupid question,” he laughs, “what about you, Aaron?”

            They go back to the table a while later, when Aaron thinks Ryan might be calmed down enough to be near everyone else again. His concern was pointless; it’s obvious that Ryan isn’t going to stop snapping at Jordan under any circumstances.

            “These are my favourite,” Jordan says, clinking his bottle with Drew’s. “What about you guys?”

            “I dig Molson,” Aaron says, and Ryan seems ready to ignore Jordan until Jordan looks at him for an answer.

            “PBR,” he finally spits out.

            “Hipster beer?” Jordan offers up his good-natured grin, just getting a scowl in return.

            “What fucking ever,” Ryan growls back. Aaron wants to be mad at him, he does, but this is probably his fault for breaking Ryan apart last night. A few seats away, Aaron hears Annika complaining about wanting to dance, and hating the guys that hit on her.

            “Go indulge her,” he says to Ryan, gently hip-checking him.

            “Yes!” Annika’s around the table in two seconds, yanking on Ryan’s arm, “one song, keep the creepers away from me.” Ryan follows her without protest. Jordan has a concerningly thoughtful look on his face, as he spins his bottle slowly on the table.

            “Hey,” he says, leaning over to talk into Aaron’s ear, “it’s him, isn’t it?”

            “What?”

            “Him. The guy you’re too into to be with me. Right?”

            “I, um.” Aaron pulls back to examine Jordan’s face, but there’s nothing but gentle curiosity, nothing to be really afraid of.

            “I won’t tell,” Jordan says, squeezing his shoulder gently.

            “It’s him,” Aaron confirms quietly, and Jordan probably has to lip-read to even understand him. He gives Aaron a small, almost sad smile. “We’ve been friends our whole lives,” Aaron adds.

            “Aaron,” Jordan says slowly, and Aaron has the distinct impression that he’s not going to like whatever Jordan says next. Aaron looks over at the dancefloor; Ryan is obediently dancing with Annika, her hands keeping his on her hips, her head tilted back so he can speak into her ear.

            “What?” Aaron looks back at Jordan, who frowns.

            “Do you really think he’s worth it?” he asks, and Aaron goes cold. The music of the club suddenly seems deafeningly loud, everything too loud and too bright and painful.

            “Worth it?” he echoes faintly.

            “Worth all this,” Jordan waves a hand vaguely, “I mean, is he really so great that you’d-”

            “Is he that great?” Aaron repeats, “what’re you saying?”

            “Just – look, this is screwing with you so much, Aaron, it’s obvious. Do you really think he’s good enough to be worth all of that?”

            Aaron can barely string together a thought, because Ryan, not good enough to be worth it?  _Ryan?_ It’s inherently wrong, an idea that just can’t exist, a physical impossibility. And coming from Jordan, who  _doesn’t know Ryan,_ who’s never laughed hysterically in the middle of the street because of something Ryan said, who’s never sat on the sidewalk in tears and been unafraid of being mocked, who’s never been nervous enough to nearly throw up before a championship game and pulled into an empty room to be comforted and reassured that he’s the greatest defenseman they have. Jordan has  _no fucking idea_ who Ryan is.

            “You don’t even know him,” Aaron snaps, “so don’t fucking tell me he’s not  _worth it._ You don’t know him, okay? He’s worth  _every_ fucking thing I’ve been through and  _more,_ so don’t  _tell me_ he’s not good enough.”

            “But you could have-” Jordan says, his tone still maddeningly placating.

            “What, you?” Aaron snarls, “Fuck  _you_ , Jordan. Don’t fucking tell me my best friend isn’t  _worth_  what I’ve been through when you don’t know him. Don’t fucking think you’re  _better_  than him. You have  _no idea_ who we are.”

            He stalks away before Jordan can say anything, pushing through the crowd until he gets to Ryan and Annika.

            “We’re going,” he says, pulling Ryan away by the wrist.

            “Okay,” Ryan stumbles as Aaron yanks him between people, but doesn’t resist at all. Aaron’s wildly grateful for this, because he wants Ryan away from Jordan, doesn’t ever want Ryan to have to hear that, because it’s as hurtful as it is untrue.

            Outside, the cold air hits Aaron hard, the sudden quietness almost giving him a headache. Drinking and then fighting with Jordan definitely isn’t feeling good; it takes him almost half a block before he realises he’s still pulling Ryan by the wrist, and he lets go abruptly.

            “Sorry,” he says. Ryan shrugs. They walk down the block in silence, people yelling and laughing all around them, until they turn the corner, and the street gets progressively quieter.

            “So, uh,” Ryan says after a while, quiet. “You never told me the Jordan you dated was a guy.”

            “Well, yeah,” Aaron says, bewildered. “He, uh, is.”

            “Oh,” Ryan doesn’t say anything for another block, until they reach the bus stop. Aaron sits on the bench, Ryan sitting beside him, a few inches still between them. “I’m sorry I was an asshole to him.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” Aaron stares at the street, Jordan’s wrong words reverberating in his mind. “He’s a jerk.”

            “Did he- do something? Just now?” Ryan asks, a hint of anger underlying it, but Aaron shakes his head no. Ryan sighs out a breath, leans back against the wall of the busstop shelter. He takes a breath like he’s about to say something, but stays silent the entire way home.

            Annika texts Aaron later to find out what happened, and it takes her a long time to reply after he explains.

             _Hes wrongg,_ she finally sends,  _i see rhe way he looks at u aaroxn._

 _Are you drunk texting me?_ He sends back,  _I think you meant the way I look at him. which sounds like something out of a chick flick btw._

 _No,_ she replies, but he doesn’t know whether she’s protesting the chick flick reference, the fact that she’s drunk texting, or saying that she really did mean  _the way he looks at you,_ as if that makes any sense at all.  

0o0o0o0o0o

            The Werewolves’ first game is on Tuesday, a post-game-locker-room-silencing loss of 0-12. Aaron and Ryan stay to talk to what’s left of the core five after the game – they’re missing Dan and Jeff, and Aaron knows they all miss him. Justin mentions him every now and then, Ken still leaves space for him on the bench, and the captain looks up whenever anyone walks over from the showers because Dan always showered after games and wandered over to talk to them. They all head out together, the parking lot still and silent, still slightly frosty in places from the snow that fell this morning. The core three – that sounds so  _wrong,_ but hating it won’t bring Dan back from Alberta, or Jeff back from his job at the newspaper – say their goodbyes and head across the lot to start their walk back home.

            Aaron unlocks the trunk, puts in his bag, watches Ryan do the same with his. Ryan slides his two sticks on top, and Aaron groans.

            “Forgot a stick,” he says.

            “Door’s still unlocked, go get it.” Ryan sits on the lip of the trunk, sliding back so his legs dangle over it, his back a little awkwardly angled as he leans forward to fit into the space. “I’ll wait.”

            “You’d better,” Aaron tosses the keys at him, heads back into the rink. His stick is still sitting in the locker room, and he grabs it, ignores the dark ice as he passes it, doesn’t want to think about anything that’s happened here. He pushes open the doors out, starts up the short staircase to the lot. From here, he can see his car underneath a streetlamp, Ryan still sitting in the trunk.

            Everything looks familiar, as long as Aaron stays back here. He forgot his phone a few times, back during their season on the team before the Werewolves, and Ryan would sit in the compact car’s trunk to wait for Aaron. Aaron suspects it’s because being alone in the car freaked him out a little, because he feels the same way, after the horror movie they watched when they were way too young for it, about a serial killer that hid in the backseat of a woman’s car. Ryan will tease him for forgetting things, and say he’s lucky they didn’t lock the rink or auction off his stuff to the figure skaters that have crushes on him.

            It’ll be different now, though. Ryan isn’t himself anymore.

            Aaron walks slowly back across the lot, puts his stick in the trunk slowly. “Good to go?” Ryan asks, because he talks less now, doesn’t make Aaron laugh as often. Aaron sighs out a breath.

            “Ryan,” he says, something in his chest constricting painfully, “I’m sorry.”

            “For forgetting your stick?” Ryan looks up at him, arching his back a little to move away from the back of the trunk.

            “No. For… for ruining us,” Aaron says, and the words seem impossibly loud, no other sounds for miles. “For the way I feel, and how I can’t change it.”

            Ryan clenches his jaw at that, looks away. “Is it really such a bad thing to put up with?” he asks, and he’s biting his lip hard, refusing to look at Aaron. “I mean, you’re my best friend, why is this so fucking hard for you?” he looks up at Aaron finally, a painful mix of hurt and anger on his face, “don’t you fucking understand what it means to be best friends?”

            “Ryan,” Aaron pleads, but Ryan shakes his head.

            “No, okay? Just- come  _on,_ why did you do all this to me?” It sounds like he’s trying not to cry, and that  _burns_ at Aaron, almost as much as the way Ryan’s obviously trying to hold himself together, needs to say this. “How  _could_ you even do all this? I’m your  _fucking best friend!_ You- you avoided me, and I had no  _fucking idea_ why, you don’t talk to me all goddamn summer, you put up with me for a while, you disappear, you fuck with me  _all the fucking time-_ how much do you think I can  _take?”_ his voice hitches a little, even as he gets louder, angrier, and Aaron just stands there in front of him, frozen. “Why can’t you just get it? I can’t  _help it,_ don’t you think I would if I could? Why the fuck would I want to feel like this, if this is what happens because of it?” His anger starts to falter, twisting into a pained desperation, “I can’t help it, it’s not my fault,” he says faintly, and this sounds like the night Aaron destroyed him, and Aaron doesn’t want that again, he swore he’d never make Ryan cry again, and  _it’s happening again._

            “Ryan,” Aaron manages, can barely find any words, “I’m sorry, so, so sorry. I wish you never found out.”

            “Found out what?” Ryan asks miserably, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.

            “What?”

            “Found out what?” he repeats dully. “That I kissed you? What does that even matter? You’d still know that I did it, even if I don’t. You’d still have figured it all out.”

            “No,” Aaron can barely stand, feels like crying now more than ever, in the face of everything he missed,  _all this time._ “Ryan, found out I’m in love with you.”

            He’s  _so afraid_ that Ryan’s going to cry again, and Ryan just looks at him, disbelief on his face. “Oh,” he whispers, “um- ah-” the half-formed words fall from his lips, unfinished, and he just reaches a hand towards Aaron instead. Aaron catches it with his own, leans in and presses his lips to Ryan’s. Ryan makes this sound that  _kills_ Aaron, so much relief and happiness compressed into the little sigh, as he strains up towards Aaron, moaning as Aaron winds an arm around his back, pulling Ryan towards him. Ryan kisses him eagerly, holds tight to the front of Aaron’s shirt like he never wants to let go.

            “Just- c’mere,” Aaron says, tugging on Ryan’s hands until he can climb out of the trunk, stand before Aaron. Aaron wraps his arms around Ryan, so close the tips of their noses brush. “I’m sorry,” Aaron breathes, “for everything I did. I should’ve- done everything differently.”

            “It’s okay,” Ryan says, smiles radiantly, “we’re back together now. But, you know. Better. More. I’ve loved you for such a long time, always felt like I was supposed to- to just be with you.” Aaron can only nod, can’t find any words at all, because Ryan’s right, so right.        They used to talk about winning the Cup together. Other kids on their teams did, too, going on and on about scoring the winning goal, about kissing the Cup and raising it above their heads, the moment that they would never forget.

            It was always different for Aaron. He used to envision the moments after the final buzzer, sprinting across the ice to hug Ryan, an amazing moment that couldn’t be real until they’d shared it. Lifting the Cup above his head would have been secondary; what Aaron wanted was the screaming victory he’d share with Ryan, hugging him tight and achieving this victory together. Aaron’s been dreaming of a moment of celebration with Ryan his whole life, like he was being guided home before he even knew where he was going, and now, now he knows he never should have resisted, because anyplace with Ryan is where he belongs.

            Here, standing in the snowy rink parking lot, Ryan wrapped in his arms, there is no Cup, no championship game, no roaring crowd. There’s just Aaron and Ryan, holding onto each other, nothing but the way Ryan kisses him slow and gentle, and the way Aaron’s finally allowed to cup Ryan’s face in his hands, kiss him for every moment of pain it took to bring them here.

            This was always what they were moving towards, a slow, uncertain path, drawn here by a pull they couldn’t understand, yet couldn’t resist. Aaron can finally understand the way they gravitate together, this inevitable force that’s defined their lives. It may have ruined everything they had, but it rebuilt the whole world for them, better than anything they would have had alone.

            All Aaron can do is be thankful for the innate need they had, to be together, because he can feel it. He was designed to gravitate towards Ryan, and tonight, it feels like finally finding that place created just for him, like this moment, this place, has been waiting years for him to get here.

            Aaron knows that the place where he belongs is simply, purely,  _with Ryan._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("A Blameless Home" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/667648) is Ryan's POV of this fic!)


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